Watching Me, Watching You
by BlinkMaster
Summary: AU I enter the office cautiously, you never know what to expect with these people, and the last thing I need is some shock therapy in the morning. Who am I kidding? The last thing I need is to be here, in the morning, or ever, for that matter.
1. Prologue

**Prologue.**

Disclaimer: I own nothing, ever, it's like a rule in my life.

My last shrink said the drugs wouldn't help anyone who didn't really want to help themselves. I popped them anyways. May not help, but sure felt good after the third of fifth, or however many. What did shrinks know anyways; always handing over judgment. It's always easy for them, going home to their 2.5 kids, one dog, one cat, and spouse. You can see my dilemma when I tell you that seeing one of these crackpots, twice a week, happens to be part of my parole.

I didn't really do anything, at least anything to warrant such a punishment. Well, I mean, no one got hurt. So what if it was my third, or so, time being caught with some sort of illegal substance, but who makes this stuff illegal anyways? The poor, who can't afford it, or people who are too scared to have a good time – that's who. There's nothing wrong with me. I don't get addicted, not to anything; I'm way too stubborn for shit like that. My only problem is having too much fun, and I really don't think that's much of a problem at all.

I pick up a tabloid, from a street vendor, as I trek the two or so miles to my newest guru of self-fulfillment. At least the press appreciates my antics, even if no one else does. The tabloids love me, and I love them back. The headline reads, "Rocker Princess Ashley Davies: Getting off too Easy?" I laugh, almost manically at the double interpretation of the words. Never in my life have I gotten off easy.

I roll my eyes when a group of teenage males recognize me, even in my hoodie, messy hair and sunglasses. Well, I guess it isn't there fault, I'm hard to miss. I've never had a problem standing out in a crowd. Well, it could be that, or the fact that I am practically wearing a sign that says celebrity in hiding. Why do we all wear the same stuff anyways? They follow close behind me, and I don't have to turn around to know each of their cells are open, either taking pictures or texting. I've done this dog and pony show one too many times to even be slightly put off.

Damn my love of physical exercise, or I'd been there by now, and not ten minutes late. Not that I'm not accustomed to being reasonably late to things, those things weren't meetings with someone who controls if I go to prison or not, and let's face it – I'd last two hours in prison before I became someone's bitch or worse, and I'm no one's bitch: never have been, never will be. Whose idea was it, anyways, to put my fate in some loony that hides their own problem in solving other people's problems? Yeah, who's the shrink now? Ignorant Judge Brown with his, "if she complains, that's it for you," bullshit.

Only twenty-one minutes late, it could be much worse. The office happens to be on the eleventh floor of some annoyingly large building. They should stop docking me once I enter the building, then I'd only be fifteen minutes late – much more impressive than twenty-one.

The receptionist, some old-bag, old-bag receptionists seem to be a requirement at these kinds of places, instructs me to take a seat. White walls, two black leather couches, glass coffee table in the middle, modern art on the walls, oh yeah, I've seen this scene before, one too many times. Yep, just as I thought, no good magazines. I sigh heavily, getting quite the look from the hundred-year old, or so, old woman.

"Hey, you know, my time is money. We're already twenty-six minutes into this session. Where is this Doctor Carson, or whatever?" It's true. My time is money, lots of it, and I give it to these ridiculous, so-called doctors for free. What a shame.

The woman's glare intensifies; hey, I'm use to it. "Dr. Carlin," she stresses the doctor's name, like it matters, "figured you'd be at least thirty minutes late, so she went to grab us some coffee."

What the fuck, I've never met the woman and she's already making assumptions. I roll my eyes, a habit of mine. "Isn't it a little rude to go and stereotype people – especially with her career, and all. And coffee? Isn't that your job?"

The woman ignores the comment and looks down to her paper, "You were twenty minutes late." Technically twenty-one, but who am I to argue with my elders. Scratch that, ridiculously ugly modern art on the wall

The obnoxiously squeaky door opens, and I don't bother to look away from the train wreck of art on the walls. I listen as the doctor gives her receptionist the coffee, and as they converse in whispers, that I can't even hear, and I pride myself in my ability of eavesdropping.

I expect a sugary-sweet, cavity creating, voice. Needless to say, shock probably played at my face when I get, "You ready?" in a rather apathetic tone. "I took the liberty of starting our session a minute ago, so it just so happens you're not late at all."

Can she do that? She can't do that. I look towards the woman for the first time, but all I can see is a rather thin frame with blond hair, entering the office door. What the fuck?


	2. The Meeting

**Session One**: The meeting.

I enter the office cautiously, you never know what to expect with these people, and the last thing I need is some shock therapy in the morning. Who am I kidding? The last thing I need is to be here, in the morning, or ever, for that matter.

My newest victim sits behind an ultra-modern, glass desk, staring intently at me with intense blue eyes. I hate them, especially looking so intently at me. "Are you going to stand there, or are you going to come in?" I notice that I haven't left the doorframe, and take a few steps forward. How cliché – a long leather couch; I can't contain the eye roll. I look around, no surprise, just as ugly as the waiting room, except for the window, behind her desk, giving a great view of the city. Haven't these people heard of a great concept called interior decorators? "You can take a seat."

"I'd rather stand." Who knows what kind of nut jobs have been laying all over that couch, and I don't mix with nut jobs.

"You want to stand for two hours?" Her eyes are getting really annoying, more blinking, less staring.

"Yes, and what ever happened to the good, old-fashioned, one hour sessions?" Or the amazing ten minute sessions, for that matter.

"Well, you could always go to prison for the two months." Touché. Although, prison is looking better and better, who's to say I'd be the bitch anyways. I can hold my own. I have a mean right hook, and I'm sure I can find someone to teach me how to make a shank, or something.

"So, Doc, how are you going to cure me of all my ails?" I give her a sardonic smile, and lean up against her desk, tilting my head to face her. Making a shank seems too difficult, might as well test this out.

I spot a file on her desk; my file; THE file. Oh, I can only imagine what's in there. I reach for it, but she grabs it before me, opening it. She's infuriating. Infuriating, it's the only word I can think of.

"This is one of the most interesting files I've ever read," she peers at me over the vanilla folder.

"Well, I am one of the most interesting people you'll ever meet." It's true. I can't help it. It doesn't look like she meets many interesting people anyways. 81 year-old hair band enthusiast in Tibet, definitely the most interesting person I've ever met.

"We'll see, but we've already met, Ms. Davies." I look her up and down, about my age, twenty-six, and not bad looking; I'd remember her; must be a fan, or something.

"I can sign something if you want." I chuckle and examine my newly done manicure, my newly-done, overpriced manicure. I had to find a new girl because the last one kicked me out. In her defense, I did sleep with her, leave, and then sleep with her brother the next day. I wish I had remembered how well she did nails, and at such a good price. She should be thanking me, anyways; she sold that story to the Enquirer for a pretty penny, even if barely anyone believed it.

"Are you listening to me?"

"Not really."

"We went the same high school." High school? Well, that's something I haven't thought about in awhile. I only went three years. I hate wasting my time, kind of like the present, and school was no fun, and fun is how I enjoy my time. Just another rich kid with a GED, but I make the GED look good, like I do with most things.

"Like I remember high school." Nothing worth remembering.

"Looking at this file, I see why." Ha, she's a regular comedian, at least she has a nice smile, a shy smile, will wonders never cease. Whatever, it's an irritating smile, anyways. "Probably better you don't. I wish I didn't half the time." At least we agree on something, high school is so not worth remembering.

"Three counts of driving under the influence, four counts of procession, one count of reckless endangerment, six counts of disturbing the peace," at this point she laughs and I shift my feet uneasily, "five counts of indecent exposure." Told you that file would be interesting.

"Hey, there is nothing indecent about this body." Well, there isn't, and those cops knew it. They were just pissed that they couldn't have it. I don't do cops; too, what's the word, authoritarian.

"Hm, but there are indecent places to be showing it." Not this body there isn't.

"Whatever, clothes hinder my freedom." It's true. The minute I take my first hit, they start to itch at my skin like crazy, begging me to discard them on the floor, and become as free as my mind.

She's staring intently again, shouldn't she be writing, or something? Still not two hours. Where are the time fairies when you need them? "You've gone through a lot of psychiatrists." She looks down again at the file.

"My presence was a little too much for them." I have that effect on people.

"I can only imagine." She smiles at me, but I know it's fake, it's not like the shy one before. "I don't think we'll have a problem though." Someone's cocky.

"Oh?" She gains my attention; I silently credit her a point.

She smiles, and there is the real smile, "Nah, you'll have no one else to go to, looking at this list, I'm the last credited psychiatrist in all of LA." I full out laugh; I can't help it, it's probably the truth. "So, tell me what happened to your last psychiatrist."

Any remembrance of a smile leaves my face. Here we go. "I slept with her." She nods at me. There's those eyes again, better scare this one off early. It's always easier to go to these things when you know where you stand with these people. There are two ways to be sure of it, the first is to seduce them, the second, and easiest, is to make them disgust you. "Her son was a big fan, just turned eighteen, a real hottie, like his mom. She asked me to give him the VIP treatment at our March 21st show," no recognition for the show, she must not be a fan, pity. "So I gave him the VIP treatment to me too," now she starts to write. "He went and told her, I guess it pissed her off because she told me she never wanted to see me again."

She's laughing. Okay, not what I expected. I look at her like she's growing an extra heard, might as well be. "You guess she got pissed?" I turn my head to face the window, leaning my back against the side of her desk. She can laugh if she wants, I don't have to watch. "Don't worry mines only three months. " Okay, she wants me to believe she had a kid three months ago?

"Spouse? I do spouses too." I never give up on a goal, laughter was not, and is not, my goal, and her laughter dying gives me a sick sense of pleasure that only knowing where I stand gives me.

"I have a fiancé," her voice is quiet and it sends a shiver down my spine; I hate her a little, "but you've already done him." I turn full circle no longer leaning on anything. I find her annoyingly blue eyes watching me. "Oh, don't worry it was in high school." Yeah, him and the rest of the acceptable looking male population at King High.

"Does he have a name?" Not that I can often put names to faces. But, I guess I didn't need to because instead of a name she hands me a picture, and instead of indifference I'm met with shock. "Aiden?" Aiden Dennison, the fuck, was marrying my new shrink, will wonders, seriously, please cease. I hand her back the lovey dovey picture of the two of them on some beach, somewhere.

"Yeah, we've been dating since junior year of high school. He decided to make it official, you know, after ten years, and all," she chuckles. Junior year? I rack my memory of any memories of the blond.

"Didn't your brother get shot, or something?" Okay, I'm not the most sensitive, but I found a memory. After junior prom, there was a shooting. My half-sister, Kyla, another thing I haven't thought about in awhile, her boyfriend had been grazed by a bullet. I sat in the hospital, holding her hand, looking to the bench across from us. Aiden sat there, holding the seventeen year-old version of the now stoic looking woman, in front of me, as she cried uncontrollably.

"You remember me now?" The stoic look gone, she looks down at her notebook fixedly.

"Vaguely." Too bad there was nothing vague about that memory.

"I'm honored," she chuckles, shaking her head.

"As they all are." At least the day presented a challenge. I know that after I go out tonight, to Ego, or wherever, that all the challenges for the day will be over. Everything's easier when you're on autopilot. "So does that fiancé know you're seeing me?" Better question, what do you know about us?

"No, patient doctor confidentiality, and all that." I know the smile she plasters on her face is fake, and it causes me to smirk because at least I've figured something out. You don't need a college degree to read people.

"Even with how high profile of a case this is, and all the media coverage?" Everything I do is high profile, and my latest stint, no exception.

"Never mentioned my name." Even her fake smile is gone now.

"Still." She doesn't answer, and I follow her eyes down to her notebook. Five sentences, max. Now I know I am more interesting than that. "What, no predetermined questions, no harsh, third degree?" I feel that this girl is slacking, I've had better.

"With whom was the sex better?"

"Excuse me?" She'll have to be a little more specific on that regard.

"Dr. Whitman," I stiffen, she notices, "Brenda or Josh?" I squint in her direction. I know I didn't give names, never do. She's better at this than I thought. I'm taken back. She's giving nothing away, watching me, apathy dripping from every line on her face.

"Josh." I instinctively answer. I have no qualms about kissing and telling, that's the fun part of it all. At least I know I'll never run low on stories.

"But you knew him a night, you'd been seeing Brenda for four months." Is that a hint of annoyance in her voice?

And her point is? "Sex has nothing to do with how long you've known someone, and it was six months, if you count professionally." She obviously knows Brenda, figures.

"How about how you feel about them?"

I can't control my eye roll. I love eye rolling, what a good form of instinctive exercise, "Not good sex."

She tries to look me dead in the eye, and I take that moment to lean against the side of the desk, head away from here. "And have you ever had good sex?"

"Of course I have." What a ridiculous question. I am Ashley Davies; everyone wants to sleep with me.

I hear her giggle at my indignation. She really knows how to make my blood boil, still not at the two hour mark. Maybe my bitch mother paid her off, or something. "I've only slept with two guys," her voice is softer than before.

She is making it a habit, making me turn around just as I find the perfect leaning position on my back. I take no precautions as I allow my eyes to skim over her body. I've slept with many people far less attractive than her, and I have high standards. Best compliment the annoying shrink is going to get from me, even if it is only in my mind, that, and her annoying eyes, I guess they are nice. "I don't believe you."

She smiles, a sad but far from regretful smile, and I allow her to make eye contact with me for a moment. Oddly she breaks it, and stares momentarily out the window. "No, it's true. I've only ever wanted to sleep with two people."

"Wow, they must be pretty bad to give you such a poor idea of sex. It's quite pleasurable, really." I know I'm purposely missing the point, but aren't we here to talk about me, not her? I glace momentarily at the picture of her and Aiden, on her desk. I could never be that faithful to him, no matter how I had felt in the past.

She looks back at me, but I have calculated this and look down to the floor. "Well, I believe I've had good sex."

I snicker, I almost don't mean to. Her fingers are taping her desk at a perturbing slow rate. I grab her hand, it starts this way sometimes. I never know why. I lace my fingers with hers, letting my thumb draw circles over her hand. "Really you haven't, but I could show you." I let my voice drop, becoming huskier. I lean in towards her…

She laughs. Well, I've never, in my life, have had that happen before. "Is it out of your system now?" I look up at her, seeing mirth playing at her eyes and smile, and I drop her hand instantly, "Oh, don't worry. It happens with all my patients."

"Really?" Not that I really care, or anything. I'm still too shocked at being laughed at that my mind hasn't regained composure.

"No, but I thought it would make you feel better." Better? Not hardly. Who does she think she is? "Well, there is my five o'clock, but he's a sex addict." Is she joking with me? I hate the smile she's giving me. I hate the silence that's suffocating me. But, mostly my mind is fixed on that laugh. No one, ever, has ever laughed at a sexual advance from me, at least not in that way, maybe a playful come-hither or a hard to get giggle, but that was an amused laugh.

"Don't you find me attractive?" I am asking before thinking. If anything, her grin widens; her annoying blue eyes are warm. I hate it.

"Well, I don't really need to; you think you are enough for the both of us." This is true, I know I'm hot, but that doesn't mean she can ignore it, or smile in such a friendly manner while ignoring it.

"Your fiancé thinks I'm sexy." I say it in a cold voice, I say it to take the warmth away, and I say it to get my bearings on everything that's going on.

No such luck. She laughs, she has a quiet laugh. "Well, then I really don't need to, you and him can think so for me." I sigh in frustration and sit on the ugly, probably dirty, and infected, black couch. Couldn't she afford a bigger office? "I thought you weren't sitting?"

"Changed my mind." Obviously. Why must these people nitpick?

"Quite the luxury."

"Whatever." I enjoy my luxuries. They keep me rather warm at night.

She stands and I watch her closely. Yeah, there's definitely no way that someone with those legs had a kid three months ago, it's nearly humanly impossible. She sits down, on the couch, crossing her legs, facing me. "Aren't you supposed to be behind the desk?" Good thing it's a large couch. I like my space.

I can feel her smile directed at me, but I find the white rug much more interesting than the annoying smile. "I have my luxuries too."

I smirk, whatever she wants to think. "So, Doc, I'm still waiting to be cured."

"Well, if I cure you now, I don't get my way overpriced bill at the end of the week, and you wouldn't get to see my smiling face twice a week. Secretly, you'd miss me." Yeah, so secretly I didn't even know it. Who does she think she is? "Anyways." Is she really speaking again? "I don't think you need to be cured. I just think you have to remember what it's like to be happy."

I snort my indignation in her direction, "I am happy."

Smiling listlessly, she nods, "Well, then you'll be paying me hefty sums to have friendly conversation for two hours, twice a week."

I hear a vibration, her phone is going off I point to her front r, right, jean pocket. "Aren't you going to answer it?"

She shakes her head, the phone goes off again, "Oh, alright, you don't mind?" I shake my head. I welcome it. I can't help but listen, but, hey, there isn't like there's much in here to hold my attention.

"Hey honey…No…I'll be back home tonight…He's at Glen's… Yeah, a new patient, noon to two, on Mondays and Fridays." She isn't smiling; I try not to notice. "Oh…Well, I'll warm up an oven pizza… Don't strain yourself," she giggles, "miss you too." And the conversation, with my most memorable ex, is over.

"This has to be a loophole!" She gives me a quizzical look. "I'll tell the judge there's a huge conflict of interest here. It just isn't ethical."

"Conflict of interest is more for lawyers," she laughs.

"Whatever. You're sleeping with someone I've slept with. I just wouldn't feel comfortable talking to you."

She's really laughing now, her face is red with mirth, but her laugh is quiet and long, it would be nice if she wasn't so irritating. "Yes, tell Judge Brown that and he'll probably get so frustrated he'll throw you straight in prison."

I'm offended. I think it's a good idea. "Why's that?"

"I already told you. I'm practically the last qualified psychiatrist in LA. That, and listening to you talk, you've probably slept with the unqualified ones, or their significant others." I know I'm starring dumbfounded. I can't help it. Can she say something like that? "But hey, you can try." She hasn't stopped smiling. I hate her a little.

I stand up and head toward the door. She doesn't look surprised by my actions. Actually, I think she turned toward the door slightly before I began to stand. I reach the door. "I'm calling Judge Brown." Score, and forty-five minutes early. I can grab a mocha; I have a craving for a mocha and a biscotti.

"See you Monday," she calls after me. How infuriating.


	3. Cordial Greetings

**Session Two: **Cordial Greetings.

"Happy Monday!" It is not a happy Monday. Mondays are never happy. Happy Monday is such an oxymoron. I almost growl at the woman's exuberance as I enter her office. "I see that Judge Brown didn't give in." I hadn't actually called, just wasn't worth it, but I shake my head in reply, as I sit begrudgingly on the couch. Standing is not an option with the headache I have.

"You look terrible," she is spinning in her leather chair, round and around, biting down on the top of her pen. I almost detect worry in her voice, and would be fooled if I hadn't gone through this countless times. And who has the ability to spin on a chair, on a Monday, anyways? Who would want to?

"You look like your weekend was boring."

"Oh, no, I had a great weekend." She gets up and sits next to me, like she did last Friday, legs crossed up on the couch, facing me. I scoot away from her, as far as I can. I can only sum this action up to instinct. Even instinct doesn't like her.

"Yeah, me too." Not that I remember all of it, per say, but with this headache it better have been the best weekend I ever barely remember.

She giggles, I'm sure I scowl. "Yes, but you're the one with the headache, and I'm not." Thank you, Captain Obvious, an eye roll would generally be placed here, but I'm taking every precaution to protect my head. "Did you take any aspirin?"

"Nope, I just thought I should suffer through the pain," I paint every word with sarcasm. I love sarcasm. I call it fun; they call it a defense mechanism.

She grins. She has nice lips but I still hate her a little, or a lot. "Well, I just figured you'd be so excited to be seeing me today, you might forget."

I hate her quiet laugh, a lot. "Well, you figured wrong." Very wrong, superbly, extraordinarily wrong.

"You were on time today."

I was? I hadn't noticed. Okay, that is peculiar, but I probably just didn't look at a clock this morning, with my headache and all, so I didn't get the chance to know the time; therefore, I am late, for whatever time I thought it was. All right, that didn't even make sense to me. "Isn't that what I'm supposed to be? On time?" God, you just can't make these people happy.

She ignores my sarcasm. "So, what did you do this weekend?" Ha, a cheap tabloid could probably tell her better than me.

I shrug. "Nothing important; had some fun."

"And how much of this fun do you remember having?" Well, isn't she presumptuous.

I huff indignantly, "The good parts," faces, loud music, apple martinis, whisky shots, sour lips, white powders, slick skin, heat, lots of heat. Exciting, just how I like my weekends.

She's laughing again, "I think we have a very different opinion on the good parts." And thank God for that. So many perfect eye rolling opportunities missed.

"Getting wasted is fun, Doc. Ask the countless generations before us that have done the same thing. Done the same thing, dancing the night away. I am just following in the footsteps of my ancestors. No harm in that." I've used this twisted argument before, sometimes six or seven times on the same person. I have it down to a science I have all this bullshit down to a science.

"I wouldn't know. I don't drink, never have." My mouth is ajar; I know it is because it has a habit of doing so when I'm in shock. I should work on that. I have no room for bad habits, and all.

"Never?" I look at her skeptically. Her eyes are on me, but I avoid meeting them. "Not even a little drink?"

"Well, a sip of champagne for my brother's wedding, last month. I was the maid of honor; I had to make a toast." She's got to be kidding. People like this do not exist. I refuse to believe it. No one is this sheltered.

"Didn't you go to college?"

And she laughs again, but I'm still in too much shock to even scowl at her. "Of course I did, or I'd be having a lot of legal problems right about not. I graduated two years ago form Stanford."

"Quite a pricey school." My dad had hoped for a school like that for me, what a laugh.

She nods; I know this because my eyes are trained on her. Something is so missing from this girl's story. Not that I've heard much of it, or that I care, or anything. "Good thing they thought I was a genius, huh." She chuckles, and this time I have no reason to scowl, damn situational irony. Damn myself for using the idea of situational irony in everyday speech, even if it is just in my head.

"Well, are you?" She gives me a questioning look, her lips slightly curled. "A genius, I mean." She sure doesn't look like one to me. Who wears jeans to work, anyways? And an annoying purple t-shirt? Who cares if it goes well with her eyes, it's completely unprofessional, even if I really like baseball style t-shirts.

"Nah, I just trick people into thinking so. As long as you pretend like you're smart, people will think so too." I have no idea what she's getting at.

"So, what's your favorite soda?" Well, at least I know she has ADD. Look at me, diagnosing without a Stanford education. My dad would be so proud.

"Dr. Pepper," I answer cautiously. Is this a trick question? The last thing I need is my favorite soda telling me my outlook on life, or some bullshit like that.

"Oh! I saw your Coke commercial last night, with Madison, and I've been wondering ever since." Oh that, Coke offered me a pretty penny to do some ads for them, and I like my pennies pretty.

"Oh, um, yeah it's Dr. Pepper. Coke is okay though."

She's smiling at me. I really don't get her. Good thing I'm not the one getting paid to do so. "Well, you looked really good in the commercial." She laughs here. "I almost went out and got some Coke, and I don't even drink soda. Madison still hates you though," another laugh, "no matter how good you look in a cowboy hat."

"Madison?" Oh no, she can't mean…

"Yeah, Madison Duarte. Well, now Madison Carlin. She married my brother, Glen, last month. She said she knew you in school." If at all possible, my headache just increased tenfold. What is this? I thought my punishment was six months listening to some crackpot know-it-all talk about me like they know me better than me, not some living hell on Earth.

"You're related to her?" I make sure to stress disgust with the word her. I know she'd do the same for me.

More laughter. There's nothing funny about Madison, just infuriating, well, unless you count her face. "Not by blood, but we have been friends since high school."

I'm seeing red; I'm seeing spots. This is so not good for my hangover, at all. "And what? You're going home after this and laughing with her at how fucked up I am?" So I raise my voice a little, I have a problem controlling my temper; however, most people just take it, probably has something to do with my million dollar bank accounts.

At least she stopped laughing, but she is still smiling. Aggravating, annoying, obnoxious, insufferable. Doesn't she get that she should, in no case, smile when I lose my temper? "No, no, not at all. She has no idea that you're seeing me," she pauses, the smile gone now, just strong observant eyes, "but you know you said that you're fucked up?"

I outwardly groan. "No, I just said what you'd say, that's all." Damn these people and their over analytical minds. Most of all, fuck Freud. Now my temper is just replaced with annoyance.

"Oh." She places her hand on my hand, which is resting on my knee. "I don't think you're fucked up." She takes her hand away. I instantly realize how cold this stupid, old building is.

"Yeah, well, that's because I'm not. I guess you are a genius." I see a smile playing at her lips. But I suppress the urge to smile back, due to the fact that she's annoying, obnoxious, oh you get the picture. "A lot of people just think I am."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, and it's only because they are jealous." Who wouldn't be?

"Jealous?" I glance up from staring at the ugly white carpet. She's watching me, facing me. Don't her legs ever cramp up?

"Yeah, that they aren't as free as me." Free Bird will successfully be in my head all day.

"That's partly true," well, again, if wonders never cease, "I would like to be financially secure without a family to hold me down, but only for a day, then I'd miss it all, but it would be nice to experience."

"Miss what?" Not that I cared or anything.

"I don't know." She looks listless, it suits her well. "Feeling accomplished, feeling secure." She hugs her legs close to her. I hope she doesn't need a hug; I don't do hugs.

"I am accomplished and secure. Thank you very much."

Her legs are down again, crossed and facing me, and she's smiling and laughing silently, annoying, obnoxious, "I didn't mean to offend you." Yeah right. "It's just not the thing for me." Fun definitely is not the thing for her. "Don't you think that maybe with that sort of freedom there's almost a social obligation created?"

"If there's obligation, there isn't freedom." Obviously, and I don't do obligation well. These little self love sessions and recording for my new album is enough obligation to last me a life time, let alone the six months they're actually going to last.

"What're your plans for the week?" I guess that topic is dropped, serious ADD.

"Um, well, I'm not quite sure," And I'm not. I have Charles to tell me what I'm doing, when I absolutely have to do something, and he knows not to bother me unless it's, at most, five hours before hand. I forget easy, especially when I don't care. Plus, I perform better under pressure.

"You're on the Jimmy Kimmel Show on Thursday." I am? This means I'll have to pretend to be witty, and avoid all talk of this situation. At least I have been brushing up on my acting skills lately. "I'm looking forward to watching it." Her and millions of others. Hey, isn't that like cheating? Shrinks should have to work for all information.

"Yeah, me too." Yeah right. She's giggling. Maybe when she said genius, she actually meant mind reader. Could be. I've seen stranger. Like last weekend, I faintly remember a stripper doing her entire routine walking on her hands. At least, I hope that's a real memory. Something to tell the imaginary grandkids about, someday.

"You know that be too stressful for me."

"I don't get stressed." Only when I'm completely sober, which I try not to be for long. There's nothing wrong with a wine cooler with your breakfast. There's maybe five percent alcohol in those, nothing big, and plus, they taste good.

"Stress can be a good thing. It's the reason I have these killer legs." She's joking, I can tell by the giggle, but I have to stop myself from agreeing about the legs. She may be annoying, but I'm not blind. "I run when I'm stressed."

"Well, I work out even when I'm not stressed." Not to mention the personal trainer the studio got me is gorgeous. They know how to keep me happy. "So my killer legs are stressed free." Happy Ashley sells more albums.

"What do you do when you're stressed?" And the shrink speak begins.

"I don't get stressed, I told you, at least not sober." Ugh, tell me I didn't say the last part out loud. Not fair. She distracted me with her 'killer' legs. So obnoxious. She did it on purpose, I am convinced.

"Oh, I know that feeling, but we all have to sober up sometime." Okay, at least I know, for once, I'm the sanest one in the room.

"You don't drink." Or at least you didn't at the beginning of this hellish session, and I don't see any hidden flasks anywhere.

"Oh, I know, but sometimes I feel so drunk off adrenaline after running, or my mid-afternoon mocha, that I forget to be stressed." Did she really just compare drugs and alcohol to running and mochas? She's the kind of person that those Truth commercials verbally kick the shit out of.

"Uh, I was thinking of something a little harder than mochas."

"Oh, like what?" She's watching me, absent mindedly running her fingers through a strand of her blond hair, the light from the window pooling down on her creating a halo. Annoying, obnoxious…distracting.

"Like real things. Like alcohol and other things. Things that really get your mind off of…things." Okay, I know I'm not the most articulate person right now, but in my defense, I'm flustered.

"Sounds kind of fake to me." What does she know?

"Don't knock it 'til you've tried it." I hate self-righteous bullshit.

But, she only nods and smiles, "You're partly right." I'm always right. "It just always seemed to me that all that stuff is hiding, and you'd think that the reason for hiding would be a lot more real than the hiding itself. I just see it as I only live once. I might as well get the fake when I'm asleep, and can't do anything about it there."I hate when people, other than me, makes sense. Even if it is a little sense, and even if it is a bunch of psycho-babble bullshit.

"What about, I only live once, better have some fun?" Fight fire with fire, I always say. Well, not always, but I'll start.

She laughs. I really think she has a problem. I know marijuana junkies that laugh less than she does. "Well, I think I have fun."

"Well, I have more fun." I can sound five if I want to. It's my prerogative.

"Yeah," she pushes my shoulder playfully, "but my fun doesn't get me stuck talking to annoying know-it-all, like myself."

Well, at least she knows she's annoying, especially when she pushes me, no one pushes me. But I guess I can let it slide. I mean, she did call herself annoying. "So, Doc, you know all?" My eyebrows are raised in interest.

"Call me Spencer."

"Spencer?" The name rolls off my tongue. I like it. It suits her somehow; I think I would have been disappointed if she had an average name. I mean it suits her in an annoying, obnoxious kind of way. "I knew a male Spencer once."

"Yeah, I know, but you can't choose your name," she chuckles, "or your parents."

I sigh. "Wouldn't that be nice?"

"What name would you choose?" You know, if you could choose your name." When did she get so close on the couch?

"I could if I wanted too. I am a rock star…" I have more to add to that, I swear, but Spencer's laugher is too loud, in her quiet way, for me to concentrate.

"Anyone can change their name, Ms. Davies, even us normal people." Ugh, is she making fun of me? No one makes fun of me.

"Ashley, call me Ashley." No, no, I didn't mean that. First names are for friends or the press, not for obnoxious shrinks who laugh at me for a living. She's smiling thought, so much that her cheeks turn a slight pink. Damn her for making me smile at her.

"Well, Ashley," so annoying, "tell me about your parents." I laugh. I can't help it. My father's roadies knew my father better than I ever will, and well, every man worth more than two million, in the LA area, knows my mom better.

"My dad's dead and my mom's a whore." Yes, that sums it up rather nicely. I like it; straight and to the point.

"Your sister is nice." Oh, you got to be kidding me. "We did a couple plays together and she was on the squad with me." Okay, she dated Aiden, she hung out with my sister, she was part of the cheerbreeders, where was I in high school?

"I should have figured you were a cheerleader."

"Is it my charm and wit?" She grins slyly at me.

I laugh; it's not a kind laugh. "No, but you all did make it your goal to bring down my day, every day, for three years." She frowns. She looks so much better when she's smiling. "I'm joking, really." Well, I was mostly joking.

She puts her hand back on my hand. I look at the floor. Her hands are soft. I only notice because I'm looking for a new lotion, and once I regain use of speech, I'll ask her, her brand. "I never made fun of you in high school. I kind of avoided you." She smiles shyly. "Oh, but not in the bad way."

I look at her. Nope, speech still gone. I just have nothing to say. Nothing at all. I nod and smile, there that should pacify her. It does and she removes her hand.

"I'll take a picture of Madison for you. She's seven months pregnant with twins, and it gives a new definition of waddle." She is joking and I'm laughing and nodding. How annoying to make me laugh this hard a hangover. She so did it on purpose.

"I feel so bad for those kids," I mutter, images of my own mother flashing through my head.

"Ian needs kids to play with, and Madison and Glen seem really excited." Well, she definitely didn't disagree with me, my doctor skills are approving at an alarming rate. I think I finally got the hang of this overanalyzing human interaction thing. I should celebrate.

"Ian?"

"My son, four months on Wednesday. You want to see a picture?" Why does she have to sound all stereotypical mom? It's annoying, more so then she usually is. She gets up before I answer, rummaging through her black purse, resting on her desk. Returning to the couch, out legs almost touching now, she hands me the picture. Black hair, blue eyes, perfect features, just like his parent's perfect features. Hopefully, he won't be as amazingly obnoxious as the both of his parents. Poor kid doesn't have a chance. "He is too good to be true, barely cries, sleep through the night. My dad and sometimes Glen watch him while I'm here."

"Aren't we here to talk about me?" I hand her back the picture. Kids just get on my nerves, especially this particular kid.

She smiles and puts the picture in one of her pockets, barely moving. "No, we are here because you crashed into a telephone pole with a blood alcohol level higher than a majority of your fans' ages."

I can't stop laughing. I don't remember the last time I laughed this head, and I have no idea why I'm doing it. She's laughing with me, but I can't hear her, her laugh is so much quieter than mine. "Touché," I make out through gasps of air. "Though, I think my audience is a little older."

She has stopped laughing, but I'm still going, not as loudly now. Her smile still whispers amusement to me, and I notice how blue her eyes get when she laughs. Blue is an annoying colors anyways. "Yeah, I guess three is a little young for 'My Heart is my Suicide.'"

The title of my last album, lucky number seven. Not like I name my albums anymore, not for the last five years, the last five albums. Timothy says I have much more important things to worry about. At least I still write most of my songs, I mean, when I can. And he's right, why waste time with things he can handle it? "You a fan?"

"No, not really." I frown. Not that I'm super loyal to my fans, or go out of my way to show them affection, but I like to assume everyone enjoys the music because I do, and I know music. "I just don't really listen to music; it's kind of a distraction." She must have noticed my scowl because she continues, "No, no, I don't mean in general, just to me." She takes a deep breath, "Music is a distraction to me." Someone fluster much?

"Distractions are nice." I fucking love distractions. Distractions mean fun, and fun means a very happy Ashley, and a happy Ashley is nice, for everyone.

"Distractions can be a luxury." She looks to the floor for a second, then back to me, smiling. "How many people did you sleep with over the weekend?" Okay, what the fuck.

"I don't know." It's the weekend, you're suppose to have fun, but I do know, three is the number she asked for. I don't feel like sharing with the blond haired, professional wannabe, in front of me.

She nods and I nod mooching her. She knows I'm lying. Something in that sly smile tells me she see right through me. No one is more annoying than this woman, especially in this moment. "Doc, I don't think you've fixed anything yet."

"I told you. You're not broken." Psh, well, she breaks my ego every chance she gets. Doesn't that count for anything?

"And how many people did you sleep with?" Why'd I ask that? What's wrong with me?

"No one, well me and Madison fell asleep watching Brokeback Mountain Saturday night." Wow, how enthralling. Now I know my weekend was better than hers. Like there was any doubt. And where is big man Aiden in this picture? Then again if I had to pick between Madison and Aiden, I'd take Madison. But then again, that's why I'm the one that sleeps with girls and she's not.

"You zone out a lot." Better than listening to you. Okay, so I won't say it out loud, but I should. I only shake my head. "Okay, you don't listen to me a lot."

That's not entirely true. I listen to you. I just have long inner monologues about the things you say that hinder me from answering quickly, or at all. Like I'd tell her that. "Whatever. I just don't have anything to say about you and Madison's homo happy hour."

She's laughing harder than I've ever heard her laugh. "That's such a Madison thing to say." Yeah, where do you think I got it from? I roll my eyes; I don't care about the pain that it causes my head. I'm aggravated. Her laughter dies a little, "Plus, if I was going to go for a girl, it wouldn't be Madi. She's too high maintenance for me."

I try not to laugh. I fail miserably. Whatever, I hate her. She cannot annoy me and then amuse me. It is not allowed. I will not allow it. "Whatever." I try to regain my composure. "Who would it be?" Not that I care.

"Oh I don't know. Maybe Katie Holmes." Katie Holmes? What?

"I'm hotter." And very indignant right now, damn straight I'm hotter. All of America thinks so, ask any magazine.

"Yeah, and I like to imagine she's humbler." Hey, she didn't disagree. I win. I don't know what I am winning, but I won it.

"Whatever, you have terrible taste." You are marrying Aiden. I am keeping way too many snide remarks in. I'll just sum it up to the fact that she can send me to prison. It's really good incentive to be half way civil. Isn't it?

A knock on the door startles us both. The one hundred year old, dinosaur of a receptionist's head is sticking in the door, barging in on my time. "Spencer, you're over, and your two o'clock is waiting."

The head is gone. Spencer's hand is back on mine. When did we get so close? What happened to my end of the couch? Whatever. She gives me a real smile, squeezes my hand, and stands. I follow. "Well, until Friday."

"Whatever, don't miss me too much." And with that I leave the room.


	4. Killing Time

**Session Three:** Killing Time

She sneezes as I enter the room. Great, just what I need, a cold. Can you sue for a cold, mental distress and all that? "Gesundheit."

She smiles at me, Kleenex up to her face. "What's that mean, anyways?"

I can't help but smile as I sit on the increasingly familiar couch. "Oh, I get to teach the genius something?" She sneezes again and nods, smiling. "It's German for health." The last time I had a cold was two years ago in Germany, my European tour. Some fan, she barely spoke English, waited for six hours in the snow for me to leave after my Munich show. I repaid her; she repaid me with a cold. I almost had to cancel my Florence show, but I toughed through it. Who ever said I wasn't a trooper?

"You're ten minutes late." Hell yeah, I am. I won't mention that I'm late because I walked the block twice. I had to make sure she didn't get any ideas, like I actually didn't mind coming to this ridiculously cold office and seeing her annoying face.

"I had things to do." Things to do on a Friday morning? Not likely. She laughs. I scowl. Obnoxious mind reader.

"Well, I'm glad you took time off of your busy schedule to see me." Sarcastic words dipped in pleasantries, usually my forte, not so fun on someone else.

"Did I have a choice?" Because if someone is giving me a choice, I'm out of here.

She laughs and sits herself on the couch, in her fashion, but as far from me as she can get. I try not to notice, not that I care. She has a disgusting cold anyways. "Not really, but I'll just pretend you love seeing me."

"You do that." Like I'd ever love seeing someone paid to hear my problems, even if they have a cute pink tint to their nose because of a gross cold that brings out their annoying, blue eyes.

"I get terrible allergies in the fall." She's coughing; I don't like it. I mean, because it sounds like someone beating a seal…or something.

"I've never had allergies." I don't get sick much; actually that cold in Germany is probably the last time, hangovers not included. Not that I don't pretend to be sick. Like the Denver show, last fall, when I had 'strep.' I had gotten to a particularly annoying part in Final Fantasy XII and I needed to conquer. Not that I'd ever, ever admit that to anyone, ever. My video game addiction is far from public knowledge, and hopefully will remain that way.

"You're lucky." Always lucky, thank you very much.

"So they all tell me." I say this with a smile towards her. I can't be too mean today. She looks miserable, like someone stomped on her very expensive heels that she bought the day before, leaving an obvious footprint and her toe throbbing. Oh, I guess that's me not her. I actually can't see the casual woman in heels at all, pity.

"So how was your week?" She tries to smile, but sneezes instead. At least she's quick with her hand. WWII will break out if she sneezes anywhere on me.

"Uneventful." In comparison to my other weeks, everyone seemed busy.

She laughs, yep, still annoying. "I watched you last night on TV." She coughs. "You sure know how to put on a show."

I smile. If anything can make me smile it's mentioning my awesomeness. "Yeah, it's a new song. I've been working on it for awhile now."

She's giggling through her coughs, and I am forced to roll my eyes. "Yes, that was a good show too, but I was talking more about the interview."

I'm good with interview. I'm use to them; they're a safe place. I'm use to people asking me questions and not expecting the truth, and not really wanting it. Sixteen shrinks later and eight years in the spotlight have made me an expert. "The song was the real show."

"I guess it's a matter of opinion." She stopped coughing. I'm relieved; I don't know CPR. Not that she'd ever be that lucky anyways. "I think you dance a lot better with your words." Psh, words don't dance, obviously.

She's smiling slyly at me, seeing through me. I close my eyes in an attempt to expel her from my mind. Why wasn't I given any super powers? "You obviously have never seen me really dance."

Okay, so I'm intentionally missing the point, so sue me. I actually don't dance much, but I can, I can really well. My bitch mother thought it would be great for my future career, the one she knew I'd have at age four, to enroll me in every dance class she could get her hands on. I can't really complain; I loved most of it. Ha, something good my mom did, crazy thoughts.

"No, but I guess you can show me later." Is she hitting on me? Did she just wink at me? No, her eyes are bothering her, I watch as she blinks them a few more times. Her and her annoying eyes. I don't want her winking at me anyways. "Is your dad really your hero?"

Ugh, she really did watch the interview. I use that line anytime someone asks me ridiculous questions about my less than perfect, deceased father. "Uh, no, not really. I never really knew him." I give her an empty, short laugh. "I'm told I'm a lot like him though." What? She watched the show, I'm feeling generous with myself today, and she's sick.

She nods. "The drugs, alcohol, and rock and roll?" I have a shirt somewhere that says something like that. I should have Charles find it for me.

"And the sex, don't forget the sex." I know I never will.

"Oh, I can forget the sex; you'll always remember it for me," she says this innocently, playing with her nails. Well, at least she got something right today. She looks up and gives me a playful smile. I can't help but smile back, damn her. "Do you resent him?" Wow, talk about a buzz kill.

I'm starting to feel less generous with myself. "Yeah, but not for any of that stuff. I understand that stuff." And I do, distractions and fun, I understand that stuff. "Just the having a kid when you obviously never should have part."

She's nodding. I hate the shrink 'I know where this is heading' nod. It's annoying, oh so fitting for her. "Well, I'm glad he had one."

I roll my eyes. "And why's that?" I'm sure she could find a replacement twelve o'clock.

"Who would I annoy then? Plus, I like your company." I'm glad she sneezes at the end of this because it means she misses the slight blush that has creped onto my cheeks. Really, I'm just blushing for her. It's sad that she likes my company when I obviously can't stand hers.

"Don't you have crazies to hang with all day?" Much better. Life is better when I am sarcastic. Sarcasm is probably my oldest friend, at times my only friend.

"Oh." She looks contemplative, her eyebrows scrunched up on her forehead. "Nope, no crazies, but I do have a lot of people who come to talk to me." She smiles. "I enjoy their companies, but, even three sessions in, I think my Mondays and Fridays would be dull without you." Damn straight they would be. I am the definition of excitement.

I roll my eyes and look down to the floor. I really should go shoe shopping sometime. I'll tell Charles to fit it in somewhere. These white heels are getting a little faded and I hate when my things fade.

"What's the most stressful thing you've ever done?" I hear her asking.

"Didn't I tell you I don't stress?" Some people really just don't listen.

She tilts her head and nods. "Yeah, but humor me." I shake my head. I do not humor anyone, ever. I am not a humorous person. But, I guess no one told her, because she is laughing again. "Okay, when were you the most near to being stressed that you can remember?"

"You know, laughing at me could hinder my emotional healing." I don't know, I heard something like that from one of my shrinks, one time or another.

She laughs so hard she coughs, and if I knew CPR I'd say she deserved to choke on her laughter, but I don't, and I don't want to witness a death, bad PR. So I scoot over on the couch and reach behind her, rubbing her back until she calms down. Let it be known that my heart is not at all reinforced steel.

She smiles warmly at me when she has finally stopped laughing and I retreat quickly to my original place on the couch. No need to be that close to the hyena after I've saved my PR. "Laughter is good medicine." I roll my eyes in protest. "Plus, I'm not laughing at you." I scoff at her, whatever, she's completely unprofessional. I should ask to see some diplomas. "And you're avoiding the question."

Oh right, the question. Most stressed? "Uh…"

"Want to know mine first?" I stare at her. "Well, you know it'll spark your competitive nature. You'll hear it, roll your eyes, and tell me it's nothing, and then trump mine tenfold."

Have I mentioned I hate her yet today? If not, I'm doing it now. Three sessions and she thinks she knows me. If Brenda didn't know me this unprofessional, hyena is never going to get it. She hasn't gotten the memo yet though.

"Well?" Okay, I hate her, but I'm still a little intrigued. I love a good story. I nod. "Finals, my third year at school. I went to school on this scholarship, but I had to keep at least a 3.7 GPA, and I had three term papers to write, all assigned two weeks before the semester ended."

"I never got stressed with schoolwork." I hadn't. School was an obligation that I had to maintain until I found a way around it. I always did that bare minimum because what was the point? I knew I didn't really need it. That's just who I am. Plus, I never needed school to make me smart.

"Yeah, but good thing I did, or I wouldn't be here with you."

That's a good thing? "Why stress anyway? They wouldn't kick you out if you did badly on some essays."

"Oh, college was expensive. I needed the grant to pay for it." Well, that's something I'll never understand. Oh well, you can't help what you have, and I have a lot.

"Yeah, well, try having your father die, finding out you have a half-sister, launching your first record, and taking your GED all at the same time."

She nods. "Sounds pretty stressful to me."

Fuck yeah it was. "Yeah, it was. Christine kept pushing me to record the album, kept telling me to forget about my dad, to accept my sister, to stop sleeping with girls, to get over my baby, to be happy, to smile for the cameras." I stop when I feel hot liquid running down my face. Well, I shouldn't be bleeding, but I don't cry; this has to be a fluke. The annoying girl, with her arms around me, rubbing my back affectionately, tricked me. The bitch. She had to use some kind of magic mind power. Too bad I'm too drained to push her away. So tricky.

"Your mom is a bitch. She's a bitch." She says it to me over and over, running her hands over my back soothingly. I begin to calm down. None of these people talk to me like that; none of them have ever called my mom a bitch.

"Can you say that?" I muffle out against her shoulder.

She laughs silently and nods, arms still around me. "I can say what I want." And I suddenly become fully aware of our bodies touching, and I push her away carefully. My body is burning. She probably gave me a cold, or something. She smiles sheepishly at me, successfully at the other side of the couch again, "Sorry I forgot you're more hands off."

No, I'm very hands on; ask any tabloid in the world. I am hands off to annoying blondes who laugh at my sexual advances, and think they can pull me into embraces and light me on fire. "I don't do plutonic touching." There's really no point to it.

"Sure you do." She's smiling with her mind reading gaze. I just shake my head; at least she's wrong this time. Take that, look whose super powers are failing now. "You helped me when I was coughing."

Ugh. "You dying would be bad press. They'd probably say I strangled you or something."

She laughs. "I was crying, not dying." I shrug. It felt like the same thing to me. Coughs can turn into death quickly, ask the news or something. "What are you doing this weekend?"

Getting drunk, snorting up, and having lots of sex, thanks for asking, I deserve it. "I don't know." I shrug.

"Come to the zoo with me tomorrow." Who goes to the zoo anymore?

"Um… Isn't it unprofessional to ask your patients out, especially to lame places?" I shift uncomfortably.

"Well, it never bothered you before." Hardy-har-har. "And I'm not asking you out. I'm taking Ian and CJ, my nephew, and I think it'll be fun." On average it usually takes me two months to seduce my psychiatrists into bed; they have a little more will power than the average person. If I'm not seducing them, I'm making them hate me, that usually takes two sessions, at most. Going to the zoo is on neither of these agendas. I do not like it.

"We have a different definition of fun. Plus, I don't like kids." Especially kids of my dead baby's daddy and an unprofessional hyena. Plus, Saturday nights are usually rather busy for me.

"Well, that's too bad. We'll be there between noon and four if you change your mind." I won't. I know I won't. I nod anyways.

"Will Aiden be there?" Not that I care.

She looks a little surprised by the questions, but she shakes her head warmly. "Oh no. Aiden is in Chicago a lot lately. He's a sports agent now." She pauses and I nod like I care. "Yeah, he has some big thing going on in Chicago. Oh, but he makes sure he's home enough and he loves his job." Sports. The mindless jocks of the world really never grow out of it. I'm officially saddened by life.

"Did he really have to go all stereotypical and go into sports?" Yes, I'm that annoyed.

She laughs, "Well, you went into music, not much difference." Big difference, music takes brain, soul, and it's just not annoying. "Plus," she giggles, "remember we aren't here to talk about me or Aiden."

Using my words against me, I told you she was sneaky. She's coughing again. I glue myself to my spot on the couch. I will not, under any circumstance, give her the benefit of being right about me at all. And she said it, coughing not dying.

"How many different drugs have you done?" When did she stop coughing? Can she start again?

"What haven't I done? You only live once." Okay, so I know I like to talk myself up. There is a lot of stuff I'll never touch, like LSD, or something. But what I said sounded so much better.

"Do you remember when you started?"

"Well," I guess I can share with the blonde. She looks like she doesn't get enough good stories, especially if she thinks going to the zoo is fun. "I started with weed in sophomore year, like most people start but that's not the story." She's watching me very intently. "Coke, I started doing coke junior year. Before my dad died, actually. Most people think it's because he died." And I let them because people excuse it that way. "I started dating Liz Morgan."

"Oh, I remember her." Spencer's voice holds no fondness for the memory.

"Yeah, she went to all my shows when I was just starting out, and she was hot." I stop. Maybe this is a bad idea. This isn't the best story. Whatever, I don't wuss out. "Anyways, we got drunk the night I got the first call from my dad's producer. We slept together, but we'd been doing that for awhile. I woke up, and she was leaning over my dresser. She told me what to do, I knew she did it, but I never saw it. That was the best high I've ever had. She dealt, or at least I think so, she always had some on her for me, for her and me." I take a large gulp of air, sometimes air is hard to come by.

"Was she the first girl you were with sexually?" What a direct question. It is about time for her to start sounding like a shrink.

First girl? Not by far. But when it started with her it sure felt like the first girl and the last girl, but all relationships start that way. Spencer is staring at me, waiting. "No, that girl's name was Maggie."

She nods. You know, she hasn't written anything down since our first session. Then again I never really understand what they write anyways. How many times can you write mommy/daddy issues, hides in drugs, and bipolar before it gets tedious? "How long were you with Liz?"

"Two years." Two long years.

"What happened?" Man she can get pushy.

"She just disappeared one day when I was on my first tour." With half my shit and a large sum of money, six-thousand dollars but who's counting.

"She didn't tell you she was leaving?" Do people normally tell people when they are leaving?

I shake my head. I want to be off this subject, and I want to be off it now. "I might be in a movie." Nothing like Hollywood to steer directions.

"Oh?" She doesn't seem all that interested.

"Yeah, it's tentative. Good girl gone bad, and all that." I've never done a movie before. I also have no acting experience. I can only guess they want me for my hot ass, but I can't blame them.

She smiles, tilting her head to the side. Stupid head tilt with her stupid, mind reading eyes. Both equally as irritating. "And are you?"

"Am I what?" I've so lost the conversation.

"Good girl gone bad." This is one of those loaded shrink questions. No matter what I answer I'm going to be bombarded with unwanted, annoying questions.

I shrug. Nothing like the ambiguous to throw someone off. She nods, but is still watching me expectantly. Some people never get a hint. "Hey Doc aren't you suppose to be telling me these types of things? What am I paying you for?"

She laughs; her laugh is still one of the quietest things I've ever heard. "Well, you are paying me because they are making you. And even doctors need second opinions sometimes."

Can't she be normal? Would it kill her? "Well, Doc, what's your opinion?" Not that I'm interested, I just have nothing else to talk about.

She shrugs, blatantly mocking my earlier shrug. So infuriating. I would remain infuriated if she didn't start coughing. Should she be at work? Isn't this like a hazard, a hazard to my health, or something? Ugh. "Should you be here? Polluting my air, and all?" I ask after she finishes coughing.

"Oh, allergies aren't contagious, and I have people I have to see. I'd feel terrible if I wasn't here." Way to be devoted or stupid, I can't decide.

"The crazies can get on without you for a day." Who wouldn't be able to? She shouldn't flatter herself so.

She shakes her head at me but smiles through it. "How many times do I have to tell you the people I see are not crazies? Plus, you'd miss me." She chuckles and adds, "Plus, I see you, and you are not a crazy."

I will ignore that last comment. "I was late today." Damn straight I was late today. I don't miss anyone, ever.

She smiles coyly at me, but says nothing about it. She best not be reading my mind again. "How old were you when your parents divorced?" Someone needs to explain to this girl the definition of coming out of left field, and then explain to her it's obnoxious.

"Eight." Well, at least it's when he officially left. Eh, I can't blame him. Christine is unbearable, I'd divorce her if I could, and I wasn't that cute of a kid. I whined a lot, not much unlike now; however, now I make it look sexy.

"Did you see him often afterwards?" Shrink speak doesn't really fit her well.

I shrug. "134 times before he died, but it's not like I saw him more when my parents were still married." Whatever, this is getting boring. I've heard this spiel sixteen times before, one for each failed shrink. I cut her off before she can follow up, "Seriously you aren't going to say anything I haven't already heard before." I hate when these people think they have an original thought. They all learned from the same text books; I figured that out by crackpot number five.

"I was going to ask his favorite soda." She's chuckling quieter than normal. Okay, I admit I've never gotten that question before. I sum it up to her ADD infested brain. I wonder if I can seriously prescribe her Ritalin.

"Dr. Pepper. He liked Dr. Pepper too. Made shopping easier, I guess." Not that there was much mutual shopping, but it felt like I needed to say something extra to get the foot completely out of my mouth. Speaking of feet, I have to remember pedicure after this ridiculous meeting. "What's with you and soda?"

She shrugs. "Soda can be very interesting. Anyways, I don't drink it. I must live vicariously though my clients sometimes."

It's annoying that I cant tell when she's kidding. Don't shrinks push wearing your emotions on your sleeve? What happened to practice what you preach? "Well, you can always live vicariously through me." I throw her a wink.

She laughs. "Oh, I think soda drinking is the limit to how extreme my vicarious life can get."

I can't help it, flirting is part of my nature. Look at my parents. It's in my genes, no matter how annoying, obnoxious, and all that, the target is. "But I'd love to show you extreme." I flash her my award winning smile, and hey, it really has won awards. "Completely un-vicariously of course."

"Yeah, yeah," she playfully bats at my arm, "I'm sure you say that to all the girls." Well, yeah, suave is a universal language and I'm fluent.

"Vicariously is not a word I usually use with the ladies." It won't be said that the 'ladies' I'm usually talking to are too fucked up or just too stupid to know what the words means, and probably never been called a lady before.

"I'm sure," she's smirking, with that irritation head tilt. Seriously, I'm rich, hot, talented, can't she at least pretend, for my mental health, to be at least a little flustered when I hit on her? It is what I'm paying her for, or something like that. "When was your last serious relationship?"

"Liz, I don't do serious." Too much work, too much guilt, and way too much to think about. I like things easy. Relationships are nothing but complicated.

"Why not?" Ha, maybe she can't read minds, or maybe she's decided to use her powers for evil and make me squirm. With my luck it's the latter. Damn my luck.

"Too much work." I hate work and this conversation.

"So you wouldn't consider Brenda serious?" Okay, her fascination with my last shrink is unhealthy. Maybe they're secretly having a torrid affair? No, probably not. The hyena would be way too prude for Brenda.

"No. It's not like I was monogamous, or something, or had feelings for her. It was just a fun way of going about sessions." Spencer nods. Okay, so I didn't' really mind Brenda's company, not that I'd admit that. I don't want to give my newest brain doctor the wrong idea, or anything. Whatever that idea is.

"How many of your psychiatrist have you slept with?" I guess they don't put that stuff in those vanilla folders. Just like them, leaving out the juicy parts.

"Why, you interested?" So, I'm a glutton for punishment. I can't seem to help it around her.

She's laughing and coughing, and I'm eye rolling. "No, no. Just wondering." I'm really beginning to think she sets me up to laugh at me. Maybe this whole thing is some elaborate _Punked_. I'd kick that wannabe actor's ass if that's the case.

"About half." And the other half couldn't stand me; I'm so good like that.

"If I was going to drink a soda, I think I'd drink an orange Fanta." I want to get aggravated about the left field things, but now I can't get that song out of my head. It's been too long since I've heard it.

You know, two people can play this game. "If I was going to be on a TV show, I'd want it to be General Hospital." I have no idea where it came from, don't ask me. My brain is use to working without me; sometimes it forgets when I'm sober.

"I use to watch that with my mom. I love that show. Cheesy soaps are a weakness of mine." Her face is nearly glowing. I hate that she has such a nice smile; it's hard to call her face annoying with it, that and those eyes. Nope she's still annoying, obnoxious, irritating, you get the rest.

"Mine too. I use to watch them with our old Maid, Laura." She's smiling and I roll my eyes, but I know I'm still smiling. Stupid smile, doesn't it listen to my inner monologue about how absolutely annoying she is? "I hope I don't open a mag sometime soon and instead of one of my awesome headlines I get, Ashley Davies: Sap." Okay, inner monologue out loud. My subconscious is rebelling against me, must keep it in check.

"Oh, I'm a good secret keeper," annoyingly cute smile, "and not just because I'm ordered by law to be one."

"You're pretty annoying." I had to express it out loud before my subconscious forgot.

"Oh, I know, but its part of my charm." Charm? Yeah right. Okay good. Rightly reminded that she's in fact obnoxious.

"Hey, Doc, why don't you drink?" I guess ADD is contagious, I can't help it. Plus, she's the only person I know that doesn't drink. Inquiring minds must know.

"My dad." Well, that's one-hundred percent cryptic. Everyone I know has a dad, well had a dad, well whatever.

"And?" Like pulling teeth.

She grins at me, pats my knee affectionately, leaving the burn of her germs there, and stands. "You'll just have to ask me next time. Time's up."

I look around the room, no clocks. Whatever, I glance at my watch; she's right. "Whatever."

As I put my hands on the door, she calls after me, something about the zoo, but I tone her out, focusing all my attention to my impending pedicure appointment. So much less, ugh, don't use the word stressful, so much more fun. Much better.


	5. Betting Game

**Session Four:** Betting Game

I reach for the door to enter the abhorrently decorated office of my increasingly irritating shrink, but I am cut off by her fossil of a receptionist. "She's still with her ten o'clock."

So I wake up before noon, on a Monday, circle her block three times to make sure I'm late, and she doesn't have the decency to be on time. How rude. "Well?" I tap my foot expectantly at the dinosaur.

Before the woman could retort with something I'm sure would have made me laugh, the doors open. Gorgeous, gorgeous redhead, one of the most attractive women I have seen, well, all day. And then Spencer walks into the doorway. Damnit Doc, walk away. You are decreasing the gorgeous aura of the nameless redhead with your own. Damn her. Now it's ruined. The nameless redhead is leaving after a hug from Spencer. Psh, we never hug. Right, I don't do hugs.

"Hey there!" Okay, I don't have a hangover this week, but it is still Monday, and Mondays are not the days for excited, happy voices, no matter how distinctly nice, I mean annoying, they are.

I grunt a greeting. I doubt she understands it because I don't even know what it is. I follow her into her office and plop myself unceremoniously on the couch. I guess it is comfortable enough. "Tell me she's your five o'clock come early." I wiggle my eyebrows in a suggestive manner.

She laughs as she sits, in her way, on the couch. It's her way because normal professional people do not sit cross legged, on the couch, facing their patients. She is not normal. Normal should be mandatory before becoming one of these people. "To begin with, I only have my five o'clock on Tuesdays, and he's a fifty-seven year old man."

Figures. I don't do fifty-seven year old men. But then I again, I don't do crazies either. Well, unless they are hot redheads. "Too bad. She was hot." And then you had to ruin it, Doc, with your annoying presence and nicer legs. But I bet the redhead is less irritating and without a fun diversion.

"Quite the memory you have." What does that have to do with hot redheads? I give her a quizzical look. I don't know why I bother; we all know she can read minds, and she's only cryptic to give me a headache. "I told you about my five o'clock three sessions ago."

Only three session ago? I've only endured six hours of this? You have to be kidding me. I should have Charles figure out how many more hours. He's good with math. Actually, scratch that. It'll just depress me.

I shrug. I never had a memory problem. I just never really use my power, well for the greater good and all that. The occasional quote for my own entertainment is about the hardest workout this brain gets. Hey, it's good enough use for me. "Jealous?" Why should she be? She can read minds. All I can do is sometimes remember stupid Family Guy quotes.

She shakes her head, chuckling. "You didn't come to the zoo." She doesn't look surprised.

Of course I didn't go to the zoo. Who picks smelly animals over Pink's birthday? Nobody, that's who, and I am far from a nobody. She should just be happy that I remembered she had invited me at all. Not that I'll admit that I talked about her stupid zoo visit to various people while highly intoxicated. Plus, annoying shrinks and little kids, I'd rather undergo Chinese water torture. Okay, not that severe, but something like that. "Better things to do." She frowns. Damn her. Her frown is severely more obnoxious than her smile. "I just meant that the zoo isn't my thing." So fucking aggravating.

At least she's smiling again. I guess. Not that I care. I just have to keep the annoyance at a breathable level. "I talked to your sister yesterday." I'm pretty sure that I have better odds in the lotto than ever guessing what this woman is going to say. Not that I'd ever play the lotto. Don't need it, and with my luck lately, there'd be a huge article in Entertainment Weekly about my apparent gambling problem.

"Why?" I barely ever talk to her. She lives in New York now, some big name on Broadway. We're more of a holiday kind of family, or an every other holiday kind of family.

"My wedding is in two months. She called to RSVP. Did you get your invite?" Wedding? Invite? Huh? I don't do weddings. I work in show business; I can only handle so much bullshit, in my life, before my head explodes.

"I thought Aiden didn't know about us?" I can feel my face burning. "I mean that I am forced to come visit you. Way too much if you ask me." I only backtrack so she doesn't get the wrong idea. You know, best to cover all my bases. The blushing? In disgust at an idea of an us, in any regard, of course. I'd make such a great lawyer.

"He actually doesn't. He's the one that invited you. Actually, before you started coming here." What? I haven't talked to the guy since high school. Creepy. Good, Annoying and Creepy can get married, what a great mix.

"Why?" I'm eyeing her suspiciously. Too weird.

"Well, Kyla and him are still good friends, and he mentions that he misses you sometimes." She seems unaffected. Fiancé missing super hot, famous ex. Yeah, I think I'd be a little affected, and I am a super hot, famous ex. Doesn't she know how to be human? I bet she's great at poker. I'd so take her to Vegas, if I didn't hate her a little.

"Well, I don't miss him." I guess he was a good friend. Okay in bed. But he cared entirely too much about sports, oh, and his hair, oh, and himself. Oh, there is the fact that he dated Madison, my least favorite person, after we lost the baby. That reminds me. "What the hell happened to Madison and Aiden?" Okay, I didn't mean to sound so interested.

She looks surprised for a second. Ha, it is human. I am so crediting myself a point for that one. Or, I imagined it, because, a second later, she is smiling. Whatever. Who smiles this much anyways? She must be a pod person. "To make a long story short, she left Aiden for my brother, well, once Glen took Aiden's captain position. Madison made me her co-captain on the squad. Sister of her boyfriend and captain of the team privileges, I guess. Sherry still isn't over it." She shakes her head and laughs. I'm obviously missing the joke. Not that I care. "Anyways, Madi is actually the one who set me and Aiden up. She said we made sense." Creepy and Annoying together, definitely makes sense to me. Ew, I just agreed with Madison, even if it was sarcastically. Will wash mind out later.

"And then you all lived happily ever after." I roll my eyes to emphasize my annoyance, all for her benefit, of course. Plus, she just forced me to endure the most boring story ever. I wanted one where Spencer knocked Madison out, or something. I guess I could take the other way around.

"Why don't you talk to your sister?" Did she just change the subject? Damnit. It's hard to tell with someone so ADD inflicted as her.

"We talk enough." Once or twice a year. Hey, it's more than I talk to my mother. Why talk to someone when you have nothing to say? Just a waste of time. "And who says we don't talk?"

"Kyla. Well, she told Aiden, who told me." How junior high of her to say. Glad to know Kyla still talks too much, and Aiden still doesn't know how to close his mouth. Who talks about their ex to their fiancé? The ex that they knocked up? What an ass. But, then again, she doesn't seem to care. She's a pod person.

"I have nothing really to say to her." Not that it's her business or that I owe her an explanation. I wonder how often she talks to her brother, wait, no I don't. I don't wonder at all.

"You have a lot to talk about. You're an interesting person." Interesting? She thinks I'm interesting. I mean, I am interesting, of course she thinks so. I'm much better than those crazies she hangs out with all day.

"Damn right I'm interesting." Better recognize, and all that.

"And oh so modest as well." She bats my arm playfully. Who needs modesty when they are worth as much as me? That's right nobody. "If you have nothing to say, make something up."

"Lie?" Can she say that?

She laughs and shakes her head. "Create a story." And then revert back to your five year old self and go play in the sandbox. "I was just telling Madi this one about an anteater…"

"How old are you, Doc?" I interrupt her. I have to. I'm seriously questioning her sanity. At least there's an upside. I could write the psychiatrist portion of the phone book for LA. She won't have to go out of her way to look for one. Dominic was okay; his office is down the street. Too bad he was more into the spiritual approach, and she definitely needs some meds.

"Oh, who's counting?" Well, the government for starters. "Life's too short to go around counting numbers." Yeah, tell that to the press, they count everything. "What did you do this weekend?"

"Same as last weekend." Got wasted, had fun, enjoyed life.

"No hangover this week." Like I would go through another session devoid of the ability to roll my eyes. Plus, the club that Court and Tyler wanted to go to seemed lame. Yes, lame.

"I usually hold my liquor well." Pretty damn well for someone my size. I pride myself on it.

"How many sexual partners?" Maybe Aiden's creepiness is running off. She's way too interested in my sex life, and I don't like what it's implying. I am not a sex addict. Though, I never understood what was all that wrong with it. People jealous that they don't get that much action just condemning.

"Two." It was a boring weekend. "I'm not a sex addict or something." Not that it matters what she thinks I just want to avoid a lot of unnecessary, stupid questions about my sex life.

She tilts her head and bites her lip softly, smiling. Why didn't I have a drink this morning? "Are you addicted to anything?"

Addiction is for pussies. I am no one's bitch. "No."

"So, you're not addicted to any substances?" Doesn't she listen? Wait, scratch that, I know she doesn't listen.

"Too stubborn to be addicted." Heroine has nothing on me. Nothing has ever had anything on me.

"So, you consume dangerous image altering, career breaking substances for fun?" How can she drain the fun out of anything? That must be what they really teach in college.

"I consume substances that will increase my enjoyment." There is absolutely nothing wrong with enjoyment. There can be nothing wrong with a word that has a synonym in the word nirvana. I think I won that argument, thank you very much.

She is watching me closely, that head tilt still in place. I wonder how many people have told her, her eyes resemble the sky on a cold winter day when the sky is clear and the sun is shining over the ocean. Not that I think that. I was just wondering if anybody thought that. I hate the sky anyways. "Stop doing them," it's a quiet request. Oddly, no one has said that to me in awhile. Especially not a shrink, or at least when I was actually paying attention.

"Why would I?" Seriously. I can afford them. I enjoy them. I feel fine. And I am in no way addicted. Why would I stop?

"Because they are killing you." I roll my eyes, heard that one before. "Because you need to prove me wrong. I think you're addicted." You and the rest of the world.

"I've heard reverse psychology before, Doc. I could write a book." Make her stop looking at me like that. I hate the color blue.

"Not reverse psychology, a challenge." A challenge? I'm competitive. I can't help it. I remember once, in second grade, I cracked three teeth because this boy thought he could jump farther off the swings than me. Screw stitches. I kicked his ass.

"I don't do challenges. I do bets." I like getting things when I win because I always win.

"Alright. I win, and you consume an illegal substance, by Friday, you have to come with me and help me pick a band for the wedding," Ugh, wedding music. Is she kidding me?

"Don't you have a maid of honor, or something, for that?" Not that it matters, I never lose.

She smiles coyly at me. I hate coy. "Yes, now what do you want?"

Except to get out of here? "Okay, when I win, you come with me to a club, Saturday night." Where in the hell did that come from? To begin with, there are photographers there. Secondly, am I a masochist? These sessions are torture; I don't want her on my weekend too. She is going to impede on my good time.

She chuckles, shaking her head. "You meant if you win." No, I didn't. "But, okay, we can do that." Ugh, no we can't. Damnit. I nod my head. Where the hell did my senses go?

"None of my other shrinks ever bet me." After sixteen, or so, you begin to get excited at new approaches. I can't help it.

"Oh, we aren't supposed to." She doesn't bat an eye. Oh what a rebel. "Let's just say I bet you as a friend, not as your psychiatrist."

I snort indignantly. "I don't do friends." I do club buddies, work associates, scene acquaintances, employees, but not friends. Friends are boring, and you have to listen and actually have to care about what they're saying.

She doesn't seem at all taken back by this comment, probably because she's a mind reader. "Well, as a person you know then." I guess I do do people I know. But then again, I barely know her.

"You said you'd tell me why you don't drink." So what? I'm still interested in a completely inquisitive kind of way.

"And what happened to, aren't we here to talk about me?" Ha, she's a real bitch when she uses my words against me. I scowl, but she laughs. What happened to the infamous Davies' scowl? Last time I checked, it wasn't something to laugh at. "My dad told me not to drink."

Yeah, the world plus imaginary people have told me not to drink. Her point? "So?"

"Well, I just figured he would know." So, she's good at pulling teeth, not so good at having them pulled. Figures. It's always different when it's on the other foot.

Yeah and the professionals I've seen would know too. Again, her point? "And?" She should take my seminar on dodging questions. You do not make eye contact. Yeah, she's failing.

Sad eyes, sad eyes. Where did they come from? Fuck blue and its large range of hues. "He was a social worker." Years of snappy inner monologue has made me privy to when someone else may be experiencing the pure joys of speaking to oneself, and she seems to be rather deep in thought. "And an alcoholic."

I so could have done without the heavy stuff. So could have done without. Damn my inquisitive nature. Why didn't my mom teach me anything useful? Like curiosity killed the car. Because, now I am forced to sit here, mouth half open, looking like a fish. A sexy fish, though. "Sorry." What? It's all I could think of.

She shrugs and smiles. Faker. That is so not a real smile. "It's all a long time ago. He's recovered, and I'm over it. You have to let your past go to move on." Or you can harbor your past and use it to make angst filled music making you millions. I think my way is best.

"You know, I don't do hugs." There we go, familiar ground: her laughing at me, me scowling at her. I've missed this.

"Well, I don't recall asking you for one." Yes you did, with your eyes. You purposely made them so sad that even rabid bears would want to hug you. You're just that tricky. Oh? Did I mention annoying?

"Whatever, Doc." I don't have to be articulate all the time. It's my prerogative.

"How did you handle it when your father died?" Didn't I just say I could do without the heavy stuff? She's the mind reader. She should know. She just likes to torture me.

"Does anyone handle well when their dads die?" What a stupid question. What's college for again?

She shakes her head. "No, but some handle it better than other." Her hands are on mine. Doesn't she get that that's not comforting, because, obviously, my heart hates her a little, much like myself? I know this because it is beating fast in protest to the touch, trying to kill me. Hm, she so needs a manicure.

"I closed up for awhile and then I was fine." Multi-million dollar contracts from top record companies and first platinum albums do that to people.

"Did you open up to anyone about it?" Have I mentioned that shrink speak doesn't become her? And that she's obnoxious? That her eyes are inhumanly blue?

"I didn't really need to. I sang about it to the world, and all." Two songs on my second album were devoted to my dad. Preteens around the world have twisted them into songs of unrequited love. People really bother me sometimes.

"Ah, but the world doesn't really speak back." She obviously has never had to sort through fan mail. The world talks back. It just usually has nothing intelligent to say.

"You'd be surprised." Hand still on mine, heart still angry. I move my hand, running it through my curls, and resting it to my side. Good, she got the memo.

The memo must have been really nicely written because her smile reaches her eyes for the first time since her dad was brought up. She must be one of those people turned on by rejection, or something. Whatever floats her boat. "I listen to 'I Miss You' sometimes when I think about my brother, Clay. It helps. "

She's so one of those shrinks that got into it to save themselves, or something. Aren't they usually more discreet about that? You know, the whole my life is amazing; therefore, I may pass judgment on yours, thing. "I thought music was a distraction?"'

Her eyebrows rise slightly on her forehead to accompany her grin. Ugh, stop noting her subtleties, it's annoying. I am not annoying. "It is usually, but sometimes I am forced to indulge." Mhm, no will power. I can't blame her. My music is that good.

"Indulging is always nice." I know all about indulging. "I could teach you all about indulging." Ugh, there I go again. It's like watching a train wreck. Not even a car crash. No, a train wreck. Not quite a plane crash though.

She giggles and bats at my arm. Would it kill her for a little bit of a blush? "I really don't think I could handle your form of indulging, Ashley." She's still laughing.

She said my name. Has she done that before? Yeah, my heart obviously doesn't like it. She should say it again, you know, so I can make sure that it was, in fact, my name that made my heart try to kill me. Experiments must be done. "You don't say my name often."

She eyes me suspiciously, smiling still. Perhaps she's reading my mind with more gusto this time. I am going to figure out how to get annoyingly amazing mind powers, and then she'll get a taste of her own medicine. "Well, this is the second time." Ha, at least I don't remember the first time. My heart must not hate her too much. "Why do you call me Doc?" But I hate her enough for the both of us.

Why do I call her Doc? "I don't know…Doc." Nope, my tongue must hate her too. It so doesn't want to say it.

Did she just roll her eyes at me? She can't do that. That's my thing. Ugh, what an annoying theft. I practically have the eye roll copyrighted. "When did you decide to go into music?" I hate ADD.

Decided? Like I had a decision. My dad is Danger Davies and my mom is a money hungry whore. "I didn't." She's still watching me expectantly. Ugh, anything to make her stop. "It was just something that happened."

"A multi-million dollar career just happens?" To the privileged it does,

"Kind of. I got a call one day, and the rest is history." Amazing history. Not that boring stuff in the books.

"I knew I wanted to be a psychiatrist since seventh grade. This woman came and talked to us for career day and she seemed so happy and fulfilled with her life. And she talked about how she helped kids, and I just wanted to do that someday for someone." Did I ask? I don't remember asking.

"I love music. I have since I remember I started learning guitar and piano when I was five." What? Music is my passion, my only true relationship. I can't help but share it with people who seem actually interested, even if they are irritatingly obnoxious, professional wannabe hyenas.

"Do you think it's because of your father?"

"He was the one that taught me at first. It was the only time I really saw him." It's her eyes. They distract you and scream tell me all your secrets. It's official. Her powers are evil. Evil is annoying.

"Was he a good teacher?"

"I had better, but he motivated me best." Motivation has never been my strong point.

"You wanted to impress him?" She's watching me; I don't think she knows how to blink. Why is she always right? I've always been told my book is firmly closed. Add x-ray vision to the list of her evil powers.

"I never need to try to impress anyone. I'm just naturally impressive." Yes, I have heard the term defense mechanism. No, I do not take much heed to it. Let's just call it a mechanism to avoid insanity. It sounds so much better that way.

"Oh, and who said you impressed me?" Her head is tilt and she's biting her lower lip gently, smiling slightly at me. Do you think she practices her annoyingly endearing mannerism in the mirror in the morning? How obnoxious.

"You said I was interesting." Interesting can be the same as impressive, can't it? Okay, when did I start sounding pathetic?

She nods, "I did, and you are." Damn straight. "But, if you want to impress me, win our bet." That's what will impress her? Not my six platinum albums? Not that my multi-millions? Not my good looks or charm? She's way too high maintenance for me.

"That's easy enough." Way too easy. She said illegal substances. My two true loves, Captain Morgan and Jack Daniels, are not illegal. Plus, it's not even the weekend. I can cut out some of my partying during the week. I do not want to impress her, nor do I want her around on the weekend. I just want the joys of winning. Just had to make that clear.

She smirks at me. She needs to work on her smirk, so unintimidating. "We'll see." Damn straight we'll see. "What's your favorite season?" Ugh, I'm sure I've been prescribed Ritalin at some point in my life. I will raid the medicine cabinet when I get home, and drug her on Friday.

"Fall. It's the nicest." I like fall. I remember one October, three years ago, I was on tour in the Midwest, and I met a girl named Sam. We walked through a forest preserve, it was really nice. Then I fucked her, and left in the middle of the night. What can I say? I'm harsh.

"Yeah, that's my favorite too. I'm just sad it's almost over." I nod, God I hate agreeing with her. "I'm afraid of spiders."

Good to know? I hope she doesn't think I care. "I'm not. They're just annoying." Much like yourself.

"Well, what are you afraid of?" Yeah right, let me just write her a list. How about I add my hopes, dreams, and disappoints on there as well? What a joke.

"Bats." Okay, just a little; she did share with me.

"Oh, bats are a good one. Ever since I saw this Dracula movie I've been kind of afraid of them." I hate when she agrees with me, and for the same reasons. It's so annoying. I shrug. Best response I have.

Her cell is vibrating in her pocket. We are entirely too close if I can feel that. Who keeps their cells in their jean pocket anyways? "Aren't you going to get that?"

She shrugs but digs the phone out of her pocket. "Text message." I roll my eyes. Like I care. I really should get her the card for my interior designer. She needs it more than I, and I need something to nice to look at. The shrink doesn't count.

"Aiden was held over, and Glen has practice, and my parents are out of town, and Madison can barely move, and Chelsea is working." Did she breathe at anytime during that list? Sure didn't sound like it.

"And?" Because we both know I don't care about anyone she just mentioned. Well, in Madison's case, I'd care enough to push her into traffic.

"Aiden promised he'd get Ian from Glen's, but he can't now. He missed his first flight, and now he has a lay over, and he didn't think to call me." Trouble in paradise? Do not smile, Davies. You do not care one way or another about her paradise. "But that means I have to cut our session short."

She seems upset. I'm still waiting for the bad news. "Yeah, that's fine, I guess." Hey, I can be a little aggravated. I am paying for two full hours.

She stands and I mimic her. "Okay, thank you so much for understanding." She seems really grateful. Who wouldn't understand? Kids and sport fanatic fiancés are annoying. "Don't forget our bet."

I laugh as I reach the door handle. "I won't." I open the door. "Hey, Doc, you better find something sexy to wear for Saturday. I'm only seen with hot woman."

"Oh, I think I can manage." Ugh, annoying. Annoying, obnoxious, irritating. I will in no way shape or form let her win. It would just go to her head. We can't fit both of our big heads in this tiny office. It has absolutely nothing to do with wanting to see how well she manages sexy. Nothing at all. With that thought, I take my leave.


	6. Drunken Stupor

**Session Five:** Drunken Stupor

The fossil is yelling something at me, in my state; I cannot hear a word she is saying. "Ich spreche nicht Englisch." Maybe if she slimmed down a bit, or if this office was larger, she'd be able to catch me, especially as I sway in highly expensive Choos. God, I love these shoes.

The door swings open as I pull on it, way too fast for my liking, and I stumble backwards, gripping the door like a vice. Stupid door. I would so cut you, but I don't have a knife and you're hideous without it. I wouldn't want to do you any favors.

Hey, there are two people in this office. There should so only be one. I will so cut whoever is trying to take my place; Spencer is my annoying shrink, mine. Hey! Maybe it's the hot redhead. Hot redhead and sexy Spencer in one room, together, with me. That's hot. Oh no, don't tell anyone I said sexy Spencer. My sober mind will never forgive me.

Wait, that's not a hot redhead at all. That's not even a woman. I've seen him before; I've seen all of him before. I wasn't impressed. Nope, not one bit. His fiancé is way hotter than him. Maybe I should stop hugging the door; people are staring at my public display of affection. How rude. The bitches.

I stumble toward the couple, slipping off my heels as I go. I love those shoes, but white fluffy carpet is nice. It tickles my toes. So nice. I want to roll on it. No, not now. Must make it to Annoying and Creepy. They're so eerily quiet. It's funny, or at least, I hope it is, because I can't stop laughing.

"Ash?" Creepy has spoken. He looks confused. Well, more so than usual. Is that premature graying? Haha. Agh! He's touching me. He has wrapped me in a rather awkward, tight embrace. I flay my arms. Help, someone help, damnit. "What are you doing here?"

I could so ask him the same question. Oh wait, he's fucking my shrink, my very quiet, staring intensely at me, shrink. You know, the one with the ever changing hue of blue eyes. That one. "Spencer's eyes are so blue." What? They are. They are the definition of blue. At least he's let go of me. Nope. Aiden's eyes are so not up to par.

He's talking to her. He sounds angry. Maybe he's jealous that he doesn't have as nice of eyes as her. I'm glad their kid has her eyes. Must pay attention. His voice is too gruff, too grainy and forced. "Well, still, you should have told me you were seeing her."

I giggle uncontrollably. It makes him stop talking. Has she spoken at all? "She's not seeing me; she's shrinking me." Silly boy. I don't do straight girls, or girls who still pretend. Too much trouble talking them through what to do. I am a busy girl; I have things to do. Whatever, bisexuals and lesbians for all! That would make a great shirt.

Why are his hands on me again? His hands are soft, like a girl's, not as soft as Spencer's. Spencer's hands are silk. Spencer doesn't run her hands down my arms like he is doing though. It tickles. I laugh. I can't stop. I fall into him. I hope that's him, or I got super close to the wall without knowing it. Is he carrying me? Ah, my couch, my boy hand-free couch. So much nicer. I snuggle into it. I love this couch.

"Aid, you have to leave. She's a patient. This is still her session time." Spencer's voice, finally. What's with her voice anyways? It's not like any accent I've ever heard – raspy but smooth. It's like a fruity, stiff drink. I like those.

"Spence, why didn't you tell me?" If I didn't have a three month, puke free, record going on, I'd puke from their use of nicknames. How 90's of them.

"We'll talk about it at home. Ian is waiting for you." Is Aiden even Irish? I mean, he sure doesn't look like it. Aiden, Ian, so Irish. I wonder what Spencer is.

He's gone now. I know this because the door slamming tells me so. What an angry boy. "You're an hour late." I am? Like I can read a clock. Ha, I didn't even have to go around the block. "Are you drunk?"

"Of course I am. You cut off my drugs." That's right! She's the evil one that made me dispose of my stash and hide in my apartment. She's pretty god damn evil.

She's standing in front of me, killer legs in my view. I wonder if she's ever taken kick boxing. I'd so kick box her. "You didn't do any drugs, all week?"

I nod. Oh man, dizzy. Is she stroking my hair? Can she do that? She's kneeling by me. Isn't she annoying, or something? Why is the prettiest girl I've ever seen obnoxious? Oh right, she doesn't like me. Everyone likes me, well; everyone I want to like me likes me. "Why don't you like me, Doc?"

"I like you just fine." Just fine isn't enough. Fine is such a dull word. I'm not dull.

"You don't want to sleep with me." Why? Why did I say that? Must sober up. Must make world stop spinning. Her hand is still combing through my hair. Maybe she'll never stop.

"Ashley, sex is more than something physical. You only understand the physical." She said my name. I love when she says my name. At least, I love it right now.

"I think you're pretty." Pretty is a good thing.

"Yes, I know, but you also think I'm annoying and overbearing," Overbearing is a funny word. I giggle.

"Why do you sleep with Aiden? He's icky." I haven't used that word in years. I miss it. It makes my tongue tickle.

"I'm marrying him in two months, and I've talked to him for more than ten hours in my life." Hmph, talking is overrated. I don't need it, nope, not at all. "We're in love." Love?

"I don't believe in love." Love is a fairytale. It's pretty to think about, but it doesn't really happen. It's all smoke and mirrors. Love is such a buzz kill.

Spencer's laugh, so quiet, echoes in my ear, filling me. "And that is the reason I'd never sleep with you." Her voice is so quiet too, stroking me along with her fingers. "I think love and sex should be connected; you can't love me."

I laugh. Laughing is fun. Laughing is easier. Spencer does it all the time. Her laugh is nicer than mine. My laugh is loud and shallow. Hers is like music. I like music. I also like sex. Sex is nice. You know what else is nice? Spencer is nice. "I like sex, Doc. And I'm good at it." I wonder if I'm slurring my words, she seems concentrated. I like it when her eyebrows are raised and her forehead crinkles. "You're the first person to turn me down. First, number one, numero uno, Number eins…"

"Ashley." She said my name again, however, she interrupted me, gr. "You really need someone in your life that wants to be there for you, that isn't sleeping with you, that isn't depending on you for something."

I wish she'd hug me; my head is properly on fire. I wish her eyes weren't so bright and honest. I wish she didn't listen to me so intently. I wish she didn't confuse me. "Can't that somebody be not as pretty as you?" I really wish I was sober. Ha, I haven't said that in years.

"Nope, you're stuck with me. I already care about you." I must be sobering up; I have the urge to call her obnoxious. "You won't get rid of me, even if you tried." Yeah, sobering up. I hate her a little.

"I need a drink, Doc; you are such a buzz kill." Did she just roll her eyes? Ugh, so dizzy. Bright blue circles. She's cute when she's huffy.

"You'll get enough tomorrow. I owe you one club visit." That's right. I won! I won! I told you I always win. "But." Wait; there are no buts in winning. "You're too drunk for me to let you walk home."

"I walked here." At least, I think I did. I don't really remember. I slightly remember a lama, but I might have been watching an episode of Emperor's New School this morning. Disney will make a cartoon out of anything and everything.

"Don't argue with me. You're coming with me." I'll come with her anytime. I'm nodding like an idiot. "We are picking out wedding singers."

What! No, no, no. I won. She lost. "But, I won." I'm groaning. "Where's your maid of honor?"

"Oh, she'll be there, but you know music better than her, and definitely better than me." I know music better than everyone.

I'm drunk and she's running her hand through my hair, staring at me with her azure eyes. It's cheating, I tell you. Fucking tricky. "You're so tricky."

"Oh, I know, it's part of my charm." She pauses, chewing her bottom lip slightly. Don't stare at her lips Davies. Only bad thoughts can come of it. "Please come. I really need you."

She needs me. She needs me. That's right. Who doesn't need me? "Fine." Fine? What? Do I know what I'm getting myself into? No. God, alcohol is evil. Why'd it take me so long to figure it out? Wait, that's not right. She's evil. It's not the alcohol at all. I will have to apologize to Jack Daniels when I get home. How could I doubt him after all we've been through?

She leans above me and hugs me. So warm. I love the warm. She smells good. No name for that smell. I shall name it Aroma-o-Spencer. I giggle. She pulls away, hand back in my hair. "We'll have to sober you up a little first." I nod. This could be a good idea.

"Starbucks, lots of Starbucks." God I love Starbucks and their overpriced but perfectly flavored coffee drinks. "I love Starbucks."

She laughs. I feel her hot breath on my forehead, or at least I think so, nope, I know so. "Oh, love of things just not people huh?"

"It's easier. Things can't love back and no one expects them to. "Ugh, I hate her. She's using my state against me. At least she's effectively the best buzz kill ever.

"Come on." She stands up and offers me her hand. I want it back in my hair, but I take it, and she hoists me up carefully. She has nice muscles. Muscles are nice. "We'll take my car."

I nod dumbly at her as she takes my hand, leading us toward the door. "You have a nice ass, Doc." I admire it as she picks up my shoes.

"Oh, thank you." She blushes. She blushed. I so won. I better remember this. Where is a notepad when you need one?

She opens the door for us. "Hey Doc." She turns to face me in the doorway, smiling in her accepting manner, eyes shining. I promise I hate her when I'm sober, but right now I can't. "You're such a good person." Okay, now I can remind myself she's obnoxious and I hate her.

Her smile widens, but she remains silent as she leads me out the door, hand in hand.


	7. A Perfect Time

**A Perfect Time.**

I grip my Starbuck's cup tightly. It's my third espresso in the last half an hour. I feel my conscious mind kicking my drunken mind's ass. Good, it deserves it. My sober mind is slowly overpowering it and I've never been happier for that. What was I thinking, agreeing to come here? Here? I don't even know where here is. I'm following Spencer dutifully down a wide hallway in some large, white building. Maybe I'll get lucky and she's taking me to some odd, exotic torture chamber instead of listening to horrid wedding music. Damnit, I never seem to get that lucky around her.

"You doing okay?" No, because you brought me here. Thanks a lot, Doc. Why am I nodding my head? What a dirty lie. "Good. Madison picked three bands for me to listen to, but I have such a bad ear, and Aiden is too busy with work to listen to them, and Madi won't just pick one."

Tell me, anyone, that she so didn't just say Madison. I stop walking. No way in hell. I don't care if she offers to sex me up right here; there is no way I am going anywhere near that bitch. "Nope, no way, sorry, Doc."

She finally gets that I have halted my advances and she ceases her own. That's right, soldier talk, because this is about to turn bloody. "What's wrong?" Is she kidding me? She has to be.

"You brought me into a building that Madison is in." I told you she's evil. I told you. She plans on killing my slowly with annoyance and frustration.

"You haven't seen each other in years. You really need to let it go." She grabs my arm to pull me along. Nope, no way. I pull my hand back. They're going to tag team me. I'll have no chance. I must go down with a fight.

"Oh no. No way, Doc." I'm shaking my head. Nothing, absolutely nothing, will get me to go further. I will even take a disgusting cab home if I have to.

"I still have your pretty, yellow shoes." Oh my God, I'm barefoot. My favorite, one of a kind, Jimmy Choo's, she's holding them for ransom. Damn her. Damn her into oblivion.

"Where are they?" I stomp my very naked food hard against the increasingly cold floor. I'd much prefer her bribing me with sex. Can I take back my previous statement?

"Oh, locked in my glove box." She begins her advances again toward the door at the end of the hall. Prison is not looking so bad right now, and I could use some shank creating lessons.

"Doc, this is so illegal. Theft is a crime!" I call after her but she refuses to stop. Damnit. With my shoes officially gone, I have no projectiles to aim in her vicinity.

"Not stealing, borrowing until you do what I say," she calls back toward me from the end of the hall. She is so the bad guy in this story. I'm a superhero with no powers. Does that make me Batman? Maybe? Possibly.

"Sounds suspiciously like blackmail to me," I remark as I jog up to her. She's so smug. Easy to be when there are no projectiles in sight. If I was just a little more drunk, I'd threaten to cut her, but I'm not, so I'll just stare daggers.

"Blackmail is such a dirty word. I prefer getting my way." Her hand is on the door handle. All I can process is she said 'dirty' and 'my way' somewhere in that mess of words.

"Oh? And what is your way, Doc?" I walk toward her. She has her back pressed against the door, hand still on the handle. She's an inch or two taller than me. I hadn't noticed before. I am heading quickly into a plane crash. When did I become a masochist? Probably another evil mind power of the annoying shrink. I am right in front of her now. I lean against the door, facing her. "Well, Doc?"

"When you do what I want." And she opens the door and I stumble inside, a stream of curses ensues. She walks calmly pass me. "Which you did." She so isn't tricky; she's manipulating. Manipulating and annoying and evil.

"You are so annoying," I mumble as I brush imaginary dirt off my pants. I can feel evil in this room, which means one of two things: my mother is here or Madison is. I'm too use to Spencer's evil aura to pick it up anymore.

I look around. Stage, chairs, I guess wedding singers and not exotic torture it is. Damnit. "Now you two play nice," I distinctly hear Spencer say from where she's standing in front of the stage. Sorry, Doc, I never play nice.

"What two?" Distinctive Latina voice, must suppress urge to kill. I've done too much to stay out of prison, cannot throw away now.

"I brought a friend who knows music." Didn't I tell her we aren't friends? Would it kill her to listen to me for once?

"Well, where is she, Spence?" I should have went for an hour though. I really need those shank making lessons right now. I could skip the whole using seminar. I'd probably get back here in time to test it out if I leave now.

"Ashley, you are going to have to move sometime." I shake my head, glued to my spot in back. "Remember the shoes." She's grinning. I hate that condescending grin. I hate her a little.

I can't really make out whatever Madison says to Spencer. I walk down the aisle. Is it illegal to punch your shrink if she is in fact the anti-Christ? I have good lawyers, they could spin it. My only saving grace is the fact that, standing behind Madison, I have a very humorous view of her large stomach. Damnit, where's my camera? Pregnancy has never been so funny. "Long time no see, Chica." I stand next to Spencer. I can't decide which of them I want to scowl at. God, my head hurts.

Madison looks like a fish, well, a disgustingly ugly, fat fish, but still a fish, opening and closing her mouth rapidly. I would revel in the sight, but I have to clutch my side in pain because a certain obnoxious shrink has elbowed me. "I said play nice."

"You can't hit me. I'll so sue you." At least she won my scowl. It takes a lot to win my scowl over Madison. She should get a prize. Like a gold star, or something.

"Maybe we'll get Judge Brown." She's grinning again and laughing quietly at me. You'd think the anti-Christ would laugh a little less. She can't even do that right. "He'll love that." I bet he would.

"Whatever, I'll just bring my bodyguards from now on." And I hate my bodyguards.

"Will they protect your shoes too?" Snarky. I so hate snarky right now.

"Excuse me. I don't want to break up this little love fest, but what's going on here? Is this a joke, Spence? You could have found a cheaper stripper." Whoa. Whoa. I am so going to kill a bitch. Well, once my shrink releases me from her evil paralyzing stare. Not even the press could bury me for hitting that thing. Ugh, maybe they can, but hitting a pregnant woman in the face doesn't hurt the babies. Maybe they'd understand. She is sitting. It's not like she'd fall over.

"Madi!" Oh, at least someone else is going to get it for once. Madison's in trouble. Madison's in trouble. I grin. "Ashley is a friend of mine. At least be civil." Civil? I just want her to jump off a bridge. And how many times do I have to say we aren't friends? Okay, so I've only said it out loud once. But, she's supposed to be the genius and the mind reader. Whatever, I'm so not in the mood for this.

"Friend? You don't just magically become friends with famous divas. Especially not you, Spence. And especially not her. What's going on?" Diva? Yeah, okay, I guess I am one. Nothing wrong with that. I can still stare daggers at her though.

"We had coffee. Anyways, let's get started." Doc is lying? Lying to protect me? Can't she stop stabbing my heart? Not that my heart gives a damn about her. Oh right, it hates her; which would make sense if she stabs it.

Madison stands. Oh the view is so much better when she's standing. Pregnancy has not treated her well. I bet it's triplets. Ew, three miniature Madisons. "You just had coffee with the artist of the year?"

Aw, Madison follows my career. How cute. "Two years running." What? There's nothing wrong with bragging, especially to the nobody who made my life hell.

Spencer points at Madison. "You, forget it and put the first band on." She points at me. "You sit down." She sits watching us expectantly. Madison shakes her head but walks through a little door at the side of the stage, silently. Wow, Madison is Spencer-whipped. More proof that Spencer is in fact the anti-Christ. Madison is obviously her evil minion.

"You're too bossy." I watch her lounge in her chair, sliding down in the seat, legs out stretched. "And don't you know how to sit properly?" I refuse to be Spencer-whipped.

"Thank you for not making that worse." I really don't think she listens to me talk. Why would she need to? She reads my mind.

I sit. I'm not Spencer-whipped; I'm just tired of standing. She has absolutely no control over me at all, well, except for my Choos. "Whatever, thanks for not saying I'm one of your crazies. She'd never leave me alone."

She places her hand on mine, which rests on the arm rest, and looks straight through my eyes. God, I hate blue. You know, I never did ask her what brand of lotions she uses. One day, I'll remember to do that. "You are far from crazy." I'm really starting to think I'm going crazy.

"Don't touch her. You'll catch something." Madison has returned. Demons of the world rejoice.

I feel a soft pressure on my hand and then cold. Whatever, cold is just as fine as warm. I don't need warm. "Madison," it's said in a warning tone. I'm pretty sure that Madison could get Gandhi to hit her if she really tried. Ugh, smell of cheap perfume. I knew I should have invested in a gas mask. You know, when they were cool.

Madison plops her very pregnant self on the other side of Spencer. "Whatever, Spence." Damnit, I can't glare maliciously without manipulating hyena noticing. She has to ruin everything, doesn't she? "U-Turn!" Ugh, the screech of a banshee in the wild. I should start a shopping list: gas mask, earplugs, oh, and smoke bombs. You know, for dramatic exits, or escaping evil, super powered shrinks.

"We aren't in a car, Madison. I'd think with all your fist hand knowledge in the back of one, you'd know that better than me." What? Much like herself, she left that one open and easy.

Spencer grabs her hand and squeezes it before she can retort back to me. Way to ruin my fun, Doc. You know what? Those hands are entirely too touchy. First me, now Madison, maybe I should worry about catching something. Whatever, I don't care if Madison gets to experience annoying shrink power number thirteen: solar energy skin.

"Spencer-whipped," I mutter as I watch the first band trudge on stage. Teenagers, ah, the years you can still pretend it's all about the music. You can hear it in their tuning and set up. The importance and needed precision is covered in laughter and low voices. I roll my eyes. Amateurs.

"We are U-Turn!" Ugh, cheesy smile. Nothing is worse than a cheesy smile. Well, maybe a forced laugh. I hate forced laughs. "So what do you pretty ladies want us to play?" Lead singer, talking big, strutting his stuff, with his fifty dollar guitar and artificial good looks. I suppress the urge to tell him he's going nowhere in life and to get over himself. Plus, no one hits on Ashley Davies in a group, especially one that includes ugly, fat fishes.

"Oh, just play whatever." Or just get off the stage, whichever. This is such a waste of my time.

"Oh man! Are you Ashley Davies?" No, my birth certificate lies. I wish looks could kill. My life would be so much more peaceful. "The Ashley Davies!" The whole band looks excited now. And look he added a 'the' before my name, classy. Well, at least I excite someone with my presence, because it's definitely not the giggling girl on my right. "I'm such a huge fan. 'Garbage at my Feet' really…"

"You are here to play, not caress her ever expanding ego." Never been happier for Madison's demon blood. Whatever, nothing wrong with an ego when you're worth as much as I am.

"This is for you, Ashley!" He is so destroying the cords to 'Garbage at my Feet.' Must grit teeth and bare it. At least Madison looks more furious than me. Maybe they aren't so bad. Imitation is a good form of flattery, and all that. Okay, I'm not kidding anyone. It's completely Madison's white knuckles as she grips her arm rest in anger. Ah, white is my new favorite color, especially since I hate blue now.

Anti-Christ is clapping. They must be finished butchering my million dollar song. Congratulations to them. "You want another?" He's only looking at me now. Ugh, I hate testosteroney, teenage boys. Why didn't God make it possible to OD on testosterone? The world would be a better place.

"Oh, no, one song was fine." One song was too many. "We'll call you if you get the job." They won't get the job. Singing seals could do a better job. Now that I think about it, why not get a pack of hyenas? She could feel at home and all that.

His band is packing up, but he's coming toward me. I don't even make my band pack up by themselves, loser. Which do you think works better in these situations, mace or shanks? A better question: when did I develop a fascination for make-shift, prison cutlery? Spencer and Madison are whispering back and forth over in their little evil world. I can only imagine holidays with the Carlins. Creepy, Bitchy and Annoying all in the same room, it's enough to give me nightmares for weeks. "Would you mind signing my guitar?" He's still here?

If I ignore him, maybe he'll go away. Doesn't that work with wild animals, or something? Boy; however, sometimes aren't as quick as wild animals. I forget sometimes. I'm about to tell him off, but Doc interrupts my fun, as usual, "Oh, she can't. Not allowed. Red tape stuff. We'll give you a call sometime this week." She waves him off. She can interrupt that fun, but she can't stop the glares that I shoot him every time he looks back. Stupid boys.

"Too good for your fans, Davies?" Where are those earplugs? I need them. I also need gloves so it doesn't hurt me, or leave a mark, when I break her nose.

"It's exhausting being an international super star. What is it that you do, Madison?" I so don't need this. I am making a mental note to never forgive the hyena for this, ever.

Spencer's hand is on Madison's again. Whatever, she started it. "Madison teaches at King High." I choke on absolutely nothing, maybe on the irony or the disbelief hanging in the air. Those poor, poor kids, I actually feel for them, and I feel for no one but me. "She actually teaches music. Well, directs the choirs and teaches dance. You two have a lot in common."

I'd forgive her a lot faster for her horrid comments if she'd release that demon's hand. What? I just don't like it, it's like they are forming an evil bind to consume my soul, or something like that. "Whatever, Spence. I do real music."

What's that supposed to mean? Ha, she lost the hand. Not that I notice, too angry. "Excuse me." I turn toward the bitchy banshee, seething over the anti-Christ. How do I get myself in these predicaments? "I do real music."

"You wouldn't know Shostakovich if he bit you in the ass." Okay, she's right about that. Is that a rapid dog or a new species of lizard? It kind of has a lizard feel to it.

"Trust me, Madison, a lot more things want to bite my ass than have ever gone near yours, and that's saying something." Oh, that's right. I'm as smooth as silk; as cool as an ice cube; better than sliced bread. What? I can ignore the disappointed looks from evil super villains to my right. I don't need her approval; I'm still a silky ice cube.

"You two." She emits a tired sigh. I will not feel bad. Any idiot would have known this would happen. I repeat, I will not feel guilty. She shouldn't have brought me – blackmailing me with rubbing hands, blue eyes, kind words, and shoes. Mostly those damn shoes. The things I do for great shoes. Plus, I won. Winning should not be punished.

"Whatever. Sorry, Doc." I look ahead of me, away from my public enemy number one. What? It is her wedding and all that. I mean I can't blame her for needing my opinion. I know music. Real music.

"Yeah, sorry, Spence." I wonder if I can fit another track on my next album. I'd title it Madison. It would be a ballad about a girl getting eaten by alligators when she was accidently on purpose pushed into a tank full of them. Hm. Might be too gruesome. Oh well.

"Just bring out the next band, Mads." Oh, come one, Doc. I apologized. At least stop frowning. You're more annoying when you aren't smiling.

"Calligraphy!" God, my ears. Damnit, I need those. I wonder if boxing her ears is fair revenge for having to listen to her voice. Eye for an eye, and all that.

A little older band walks out from behind the wall. Three member, all girl band. I like, well, my libido likes. Acoustic, keyboards, and drugs – not the best line up, but I'll forgive them. "Pick them, Doc, and I'll come to your wedding," I whisper in her ear.

She elbows me playfully. Ah, there's that smile. Not that I missed it, just the annoyance level in the room was becoming suffocating. "I'm Jean, she's Beth, and she's Andy, and we're Calligraphy." She points to herself, the keyboardist, and then the drummer, in turn. Brown eyes, brown hair, no features of Annoying there. I like her already.

"Just play anything." You know, why didn't I get that Madison would be Doc's maid of honor? Eh, I guess it was my assumption that usually people pick other people for that job.

They start a song. I don't recognize it. I like it that way. But, then they stop, or, well, their drummer stops and the other two stop to glare angrily at her. They need to work on their angry glares. Amateurs. "Holy shit!" I really hate that expression. "You're Ashley Davies!" Why do people feel the need to tell me, like I am completely unaware of the fact?

The other two start saying things along those lines. I am a master at tuning out fan squeals, as I lovingly call them. "Seriously, just play a song." Not so great at tuning certain people out though. I so hate annoying fans for making me and Madison agree.

I try not to listen as they cover my song 'Willow.' I barely like that song when I sing it, and I make all songs sound good. It was the first song they wrote for me. I guess negative connotations still applies. Who wants to sing about stupid, unimportant things, like holding hands? Stupid high school shit. I hate it.

Clapping, this time from both of my captors. They must have been alright; Madison never liked clapping for anyone but herself. "That was really good." I really can't see Spencer telling anyone it was really bad, let alone just bad. I'm going to have to school her on criticizing. I'll use Madison as a model, oh, and her creepy fiancé.

"Thanks Blondie, but we really just want Ashley's opinion." Blondie? No one can give Spencer lame nicknames but me. I have unofficially called all rights to it.

"Her name is Spencer, not Blondie, and if I were you I'd apologize before I get really pissed." What? I'm protective of my rights, that's all.

"Sorry, we just really want to know what you think. We're huge fans." The girl, the guitarist, looks frantically between me and the anti-Christ. What's with everyone wanting my opinion lately? I know I'm in high demand, but this is ridiculous.

"Seriously, apologize to Spencer, and just get off the stage. One of those two will call you, or something." Damn her name, electrocuting my tongue. Only one of pure evil could do such a thing. Oh, the measures I go to protect my rights.

I hear a mumbled apology to the hyena. She could have done better. Whatever, apologizing is one thing I can't school anyone in. They pack up in silence and then they are gone. Good riddance. "Ashley, you really didn't have to do that. They didn't mean anything by it. I was fine." Psh, it had nothing to do with you, Doc. I was protecting my unofficial, exclusive rights.

"Yeah, whatever." Still, whatever happened to a little gratitude? But just look at that smile, wait, do not look at it. Smiles are not gratitude. Smiles are obnoxious, especially on the anti-Christ. The anti-Christ is not supposed to smile.

"They were pretty disrespectful, Spence. It is your wedding not that Britney Spear's over there." Those are fighting words, well; they would be if Spencer didn't cover my hand with hers. You know her paralyzing, evil powers and all. Britney Spears wasn't so bad, right? I mean, before she went crazy, she sold tons of records with very little effort. Really, she should be my hero. Okay, I won't go that far.

"Madison, just get the last band out here." Oh, that's right, Doc sounds aggravated. She so likes me better. Not that I care, and who wouldn't really? Bitchy banshee or me, I do believe it's an easy choice.

"Kryptonite!" Ugh, now that old 3 Doors Down song will be in my head all day. It's so fucking catchy; it really isn't fair. Four good-looking guys walk on stage. At least they look like they know what they're doing. Lead guitar, rhythm, bass and drums, a pretty good line up. And they are taking their time and checking precision as they prepare. Well, at least I'm not completely annoyed yet.

"Yes, she's Ashley Davies. No, she doesn't want to talk to you or sign anything you give her. And I will kill you if you play any of her songs. Comprende?" The impossible has happened, no really, pigs are flying over the ice sheets in hell. I am grateful, even for a second, for Madison's existence.

The bassist has the mic. Way to grip it like it's a baby. That thing isn't going to break. Amateur. You'll drop it that way. Well, if you plan on putting on a good show. "Well, I'm more interested in the beauty in the middle." He winks at Spencer. "This one's for you."

He can't wink at her; I don't even wink at her. Who the hell does he think he is? He can't just wink at other people's shrinks. It should be illegal. Whatever, I'm just worried that he's insane, who would hit on her and not me? Yeah, that's it. Who plays covers of Rob Thomas' songs for the ladies, anyways? You write your own stuff for that, much more impressive. Seriously, amateurs.

Clapping? Why clap for that shit? Whatever. "I think it's safe to say you guys got the job." What! Ugh, Madison, I liked you, almost, for like a second. Why'd you have to go and ruin it?

"I agree. You four are great!" Whatever, the wink must have messed with her brain cells. They're terrible musicians. They don't even know how to woo woman, or something like that. "What do you think, Ash?"

Ash? That's new. Whatever, I don't care, but my heart hates it. You should feel how fast it's beating in protest. "Whatever." Whatever is slowly becoming one of my favorite words. "The song was corny." What? It was.

Spencer is beaming. I guess she really liked them. Figures, she'd like corny. "You have the job. I'll contact you later with all the info."

They begin to pack their stuff. They must be offering these bands a lot of money if they're willing to haul their stuff around just to play one song for no cash. "Why is it that all the beautiful ones are taken" Ugh, bassist is in front of shrink, presenting her with cheap, horrible lines.

"Oh, I'm sure not all the beautiful ones. You'll find someone." Is she really that naïve? To begin with, Doc, he wants in your pants. To end with, he's way to scummy to find anyone, ever, unless you count meaningless sex he gets because of cheap, knock-off lyrics. Oh God, I'm a scummy bassist. My head hurts. Is it time to leave yet? I have a serious date with Jack tonight.

"I'm really starting to get my heart set on this blonde with pretty, blue eyes and a killer smile." He stretches his hand out to her. "I'm Jim."

I knock his hand away from her. "She's taken." He looks at me in surprise. What? His lines were lame; he doesn't deserve a handshake, or something like that. Pretty eyes? Killer smile? Please. I could do so much better. "Isn't that your band leaving?" I point to where his band is walking off stage.

He gives me a suspicious look and nods. He reminds me of a monkey, one of those ugly, groaning monkeys. "I'll see you later, blue eyes." He turns and leaves. Good riddance. Why was sobering up to come here a good idea again?

Spencer is staring at me with her head tilt. God, I hate that head tilt, and the accompanying mind reading eyes that come along with it. Do you think she'd appreciate a neck brace and eye patches for Christmas? "What? He was annoying." I refuse to look at those eyes; I stare at the empty stage.

"She's engaged not dead, and he was hot." Whatever, if it has a penis, Madison thinks it's hot.

"I thought he was more of a dumb primate." Lies, not even monkeys have that bad of facial hair and at least when they make noises it's semi-cute.

"You're just mad because he hit on Spencer and not you." That's not true. I just thought he was a dumb primate and that fact that he only used the word "pretty" to describe her eyes backs me up. Not that I'd use a better word. Just annoying.

"Well, we knew he wouldn't be hitting on you since you look like a house." Old habits die hard, I can't help it. Madison bashing is one of my oldest, favorite habits.

Spencer stands, and we both immediately do the same. She does it because she is Spencer-whipped; I do it because I'm tired of sitting. She's hugging Madison. Whatever. I feel like I should make commentary: the anti-Christ embraces a demon transferring, back and forth, evil demon powers. I'm pretty sure Madison is too dumb to have evil mind powers. At least, my mind is semi-safe. "I'll see you at home, Mads. I have to take Ashley home."

"Ugh, be careful. I know from experience, she bites." Yeah, she wishes.

Madison leaves the room with her slow waddle. Ah, life just got a whole lot more bearable. "You owe me, Doc."

"Barely. You gave no musical advice what so ever." Way to point out that this was a complete waste of my time.

"I didn't kill Madison." Personally I think this is a great feat that should be rewarded. She can use her imagination on how to reward me.

"Only because you don't think prison garb would go with your pretty, yellow shoes." Okay, yes, the idea of wearing prison garb has affected my decision, out ruling all idea of all shank creation courses.

"When do I get my shoes back?" I'm ready to have withdrawals. Plus, barefoot doesn't go well with me. You never know when crazy paparazzi will be around the next corner.

"Oh, I don't know. Why would I give up my leverage over a million dollar music sensation?" Have I mentioned I hate when she's coy, and smiles at me with her stupid eyes and carefree smile? If not, I am mentioning it right now.

Psh, no one has power over Ashley Davies, especially not annoying shrinks with head tilting problems. "I'm starting to find those shoes really annoying." I'm sure if I asked really nice, he'd make me another pair.

"I guess I'm contagious." Okay, now it's just like she's reading my inner monologue. Nothing is more annoying than the anti-Christ sounding like your subconscious. Does this mean that the evil is contagious too?

Hey, my jeans are vibrating. When did I start putting my phone in my jeans? Ugh, she is contagious. Hey, this means I so had a projectile earlier. Damnit. That is so unfair. "Hold on a second, Sparky." I answer the phone as I watch her mouth the word 'Sparky' with a confused look. Hey, I don't know either.

"Ashley, we really need a title for the new album." It's Tim. I demanded that I name this one last week. What? I don't need any more lame names that annoying hyenas can make fun of me over. I just didn't think of the fact that I'd actually have to think of one.

I glance at the reason for my dilemma, who happens to be looking around her in up most fascination. It's not like she's never seen an old stage before. Let's be serious. Ugh, why can't she be normal? "Blue. I want to name the album Blue."

"Blue?" He sounds confused. Whatever, it's just the only thing in my head right now. "You sure?"

"Yeah. I got to go." And I hang up.

"What's blue?" Way to eavesdrop, Doc. So not polite, and all that.

"None of your business." Like I'd give her the pleasure of knowing, and then reading my mind, and then, it would just all be bad.

"Well, let's get out of here then so I can reunite you with your true love." True love? Oh, the shoes. I better find something really good to wear those shoes to, very soon, or I will so cut them.

"No, that's Starbucks. The shoes are just a casual lover." I could never live without my Starbucks fix. If that's not love, I don't know what is.

"I feel bad for them. They seemed pretty attached to you." She starts for the door. If anything else, she really does have a nice ass. Annoying persona, but nice ass. "Hey." She turns back towards me. "I do appreciate this."

"Did I have a choice? I mean really, Doc." I start towards her. God, I'll get her a dictionary with words such as blackmail, annoying, evil and the like highlighted. I'll add that in the list of things to get her for Christmas.

She laughs, and I roll my eyes. "You're Ashley Davies, you always have a choice." Wow, she is so speaking straight to my ego. For once, not so annoying. "Well, if you listen to you." Okay, she lost it. But she had it for a second.

"Whatever, I am picking you up at eight tomorrow. You better be ready." She better look presentable. I deserve much reward for today, and the last hell of a week. I miss my substances.

We walk out the door, and she turns and smiles at me. Ugh, if I ever smile that much, kill me. "Hey, Ash."

"What?" Can't we get going already? I still have an impending date with Jack.

"I had a good time with you." What do I say to that? I mean, I can speak, I just don't know what to say. That's right. My tongue is just a little heavy right now, and my eyes just are lazy and don't want to move from her eyes. They have evil paralyzing powers, you know. "Oh come on, dork." She grabs my arm and drags me the rest of the way to the car.

Dork? Ashley Davies is not a dork. Too bad I realize this after she has already dropped me off with a goodbye and a paper with her address on it. She's long gone, but I'm still right here.


	8. To the Stars

**To the Stars**

Okay, someone, anyone, in that whole abyss that they call the universe, tell me why I thought this was a good idea, ever? Anyone? Yeah, that's what I thought. This is the worse idea I've ever had. And I've had some bad ones. Like that one time when I thought it would be a good idea to slide down the bowling alley in my halter top. My stomach still hasn't forgiven me, no matter how many times I explain to it that I was intoxicated, and that I would never hurt it sober. Some things just never forgive, ask my little scar.

My entire body hates me. Everything is rebelling. It's them verse me, and I am losing. But seriously, how can you win against your vital organs? They kind of own you. Psh, whatever. They are still a part of me, so it's okay to lose to them, right? Right. Fucking skin is all clammy; stupid stomach is heavy; annoying head is in pain; and don't get me started on the heart, stupid rapid beating heart. Whatever, all of them agree with me, taking Spencer tonight, not a great idea.

Whatever, it's just the Doc, and it's not like her annoyance can kill me tonight, way too many people to help absorb her evil powers. I bet she won't even be able to hone in on my mind, and all that. I guess it could be bearable. Whatever, I just want to see her drunk. Super, smashingly drunk. Well, I mean, it is fair, she saw me in such a state. And then she stole my shoes. However, I doubt I'd ever want a pair of her shoes. Maybe I'll steal her car, or something. Can't ever have too many cars.

"This is it," my driver, Freddy, calls back to me as he pulls into a quaint driveway. What? Quaint is the only world I can think of. You know what I think? They should have word-bees. You know, instead of spelling-bees, people would just wow the crowd with their awesome knowledge of words. Now, that would be an educational program I'd watch.

"This is it?" Charles eyes the surroundings with disgust. He always sits across from me. I never really got why. I'd puke if I sat in the limo backwards. I guess those with stomachs stronger than mine can really live on the wild side of life. No, really, that is about as wild as Charles gets. I'd call him pathetic, but, on occasion, he does two AM Starbucks runs for me, which automatically makes him a God. Think about it, what did Zeus really do anyways? Well, except get laid excessively. "So what cheap seventies, horror flick did this scene come from?"

"It's called Anti-Christ Goes Shrink. It's very scary really." I start to move towards the exit. That's the thing about limos I never really learned, how to make a swift, good-looking exit. I always get stuck on the leather or the door is just too far away and I stumble. Good thing the cameras are outside the car and not in.

"Ashley." I hate that warning tone. I feel like a child with my hand in the cookie jar. "Didn't we decide we don't do our psychiatrists anymore?" When did I multiply and become a flamboyantly homosexual man? I must have missed that.

"We are not doing anyone. She's annoying and just, well, annoying." I'll keep her super powers secret for now. You know, secret identity and all. Who knows what other powers she has. I could see laser vision. She seems like a laser vision type of girl. I'd rather not me lasered to death.

"We better not be. Record sales do not go up enough with prison time to delay the next album because you have to bed every good looking thing that comes your way." Not every good looking thing, per se. I have limitations. I don't touch the strippers, or groupies, or anything over forty, oh, or backup dancers. See? I have standards.

"Not even remotely interested, Charlie." Evil, super powers are not an aphrodisiac. Chocolate is an aphrodisiac. "She laughs a lot, like a hyena, I don't do African animals."

"Then why are you wearing your favorite outfit?" What? I like to look hot. I'm sex deprived. It's been almost a week. I just haven't been in the mood. I'm scared she'll use her evil powers to send me mental messages along the lines of, 'I told you, you were addicted to sex.' No one tells Ashley Davies they told her so. And this top extenuates my chest. I like it that way.

I roll my eyes at him. "Because I look hot in it." I don't need someone else reading everything I do like I'm a book. I pay an obnoxious hyena way too much to do that already.

"You think you look hot in everything." Only because I know hot, and I'm it. "And if you're not interested, why are you still sitting in here staring at that dinky thing they call a house?" Obviously because I am avoiding the headache that is sure to ensue the minute I ring that doorbell.

"Ugh, go to hell." I fumble out of the car. Who lives in places like this? A cul-de-sac? Really? Three step ranches abound. I'm going to be sick. Could it be anymore Meet the Cleavers? At least they forfeited the white-picket fence. But they picked up the ugly, over done landscaping.

Okay, screen door, ugly white, wooden door, no doorbell. Ugh, she just wants me to work for everything, doesn't she? I knock on the door. Whatever happened to doorbells? Last time I checked they were still in fashion. Oh, especially those nice, expensive ones that plays Beethoven. I want one of those.

The door opens. Oh, you have to be kidding me. A peak of the banshee in her natural habitat, and then the door slams on my face. She must be in a good mood. "Come on, Madison. I'm here to pick up what's her name." I don't need any names burning my tongue, you know before I can properly scorch it with large amounts of liquor.

I hear her walking away from the door. Damn her. Who knows what could happen to me on these streets. You never know about suburban landscapes. All the good horror movies occur here and all that. And it's not like Charles or Freddy could protect me. Charles would find something amazingly interesting in the interior design of the limo and Freddy; well, Freddy would become distracted by the birds in the sky. Not that whatever is inside that excuse for a house isn't horror movie enough.

See look, look at what kind of horror is opening the door now. Ugh, Creepy. "Ash!" No, don't. Ugh, he did. He's hugging me. Why is it that guys either hug you like you have no bones, or hug you like you're fine China? Why can't there be a happy medium? I'd love a happy medium right now, you know, before my bones break.

"Aiden, I need to breath." It's critical, you know, for life, and there is no way I am dying sober. The big guy upstairs wouldn't recognize me that way. Wait, maybe that's a good thing.

"I can't believe you're here." At least he let go. Now just to get him to stop talking. "I mean, I've missed you. What are you doing here?" He's slow isn't he? Or perhaps his attention span somehow decreased since high school. I didn't know it was possible.

"Um, Aiden, are you going to let me in?" You know, I love standing in doorways, but not when suburban serial killers abound, and Aiden would be no help in that situation. He'd probably get a glance of his reflection in the psycho's knife. Then I'd really be doomed.

"Oh right, come in, come in. I was about to feed Ian." I follow him into a dimly lit hallway and then into what must be their living room. How, small. Ugh, now I have to hire her an interior decorator and a maid, this place needs a good scrubbing. Dust. Who has dust in their houses? Well, Madison is here; obviously they let the trash in.

"This is my son." I look down to the little Annoying-Creepy mix cuddling with a teddy bear on the sorry excuse for a couch. Who has dark green couches anyways? Natural colors are out of style. Someone should tell them. Color is in. "Ian." What's the child of the anti-Christ called? Is there a name for it? I knew I should have paid attention in Sunday school that one time I went.

"Is he supposed to be sucking on the bear's ear? What are you two teaching the poor boy?" I hate when things I'm supposed to hate are kind of cute. Plus, he smiles when he looks up to me. This means he's a smart kid. I am awesome. God, I hope he didn't inherit the powers.

"He loves that bear." He's always been a master at avoiding my sarcasm. Life is so boring that way. "Spencer named it Herbert. I'm not really sure why." Well, at least her nature is lost on everyone in the world and not just me.

"Where is she, anyways? I'm supposed to be picking her up." This is a euphemism for; get her down here I want to leave this place immediately. He looks a little put off. Did he really think a rock star would just drop by his house for old time's sake? Whatever. He wasn't that great.

"Oh, she's late. She volunteers at a shelter on Saturdays." What? Ugh, I guess shelters are the best places to work if you are trying to conceal your secret identity of super, evil villain who could quite possibly be the anti-Christ.

He sits on the couch, grabbing the little boy, who does not seem to want to release poor Herbert, and holds the two of them carefully in his arms. Aiden is by far the funniest looking housewife I have ever seen. "You want to hold him?"

"What?" Aren't those things like breakable? I try to stray away from breakable objects in all regards. I even get my apple juice in the plastic containers. Saves a lot of headaches that way.

"He doesn't usually like strangers." What a smart kid. "But he didn't scream when you came in the room." That doesn't surprise me; I mean Madison is here, he has much better things to scream over. "So I guess he's sleepy enough to let you hold him." He practically shoves the kid into my hands. I take him, Clumsy over there is going to break him and I have no idea how to clean up broken baby. It's highly doubtful he does either.

Ugh, Kyla showed me how to hold a baby when she had her spawn, but I'd rather just avoid the whole situation. They like to spit, and stuff like that, so not appealing. "Don't you have a nanny or something for this?" He is laughing at me. She really is contagious. "I saw Madison earlier."

"She's not the nanny." Well, obviously. She's as big as a whale and makes children scream. "She lives here. We share this place with Madi and Glen." Wait, two families live here? Two demon families live here? I'll hire the exorcist tomorrow.

"You're living with your fiancé and your ex?" What a pimp.

"Glen just got signed to the Lakers, and I'm never home, so it's usually just the two girls here, and they wanted to be close to Spencer's parents. So here we are." I should have figured this house wasn't his idea. He always liked flashy things. Like that disgusting motorcycle he got that one time. Actually, now that I think about it, his things usually didn't scream flashy, they screamed small penis.

"Oh. It's quaint." I guess the entire world really is Spencer-whipped then. She really does have the powers. I knew I wasn't imagining it.

The front door opens, the loud squeak echoing in the small house. God, don't they know how to oil their hinges or something? Wait, no, I don't want to know about them oiling any hinges, ever. "Aiden." Ugh, it's her, and here I was hoping I'd get out of this whole little adventure.

"In here, hun," he calls to her. Could he sound more like a ninety year old man? It goes well with his premature graying. Now, I just wish he was balding as well. No, that might lead to suicidal tendencies. Never pretty.

"I just don't know what to do, Aid. Those kids just don't want my help, but they need someone, and…" She halts as she enters the room and sees me with her kid on my lap. Yeah, I'd do the same. Can't have too much of a cute thing in one eyeful and all that.

Head tilt, warm smile. Can't I have like five seconds to get my bearings straight before she pulls out the heavy artillery? I bet she was one of those kids that counted with their eyes open in hide and seek. I hated those kids. "Doc, you're late." Ha, looks like the roles are reversed. I'll just pretend like she circled the block too.

Ugh, so annoying, with her stupid blue t-shirt, that brings out her awkwardly bright eyes. That's right, awkward. I have decided that they are inhumanly blue, and therefore awkward. "Hey you, I'll just grab my phone."

"Whoa, you are not coming out with me in jeans and a t-shirt." That's right Doc, you owe me sexy. You practically promised it by making me endure yesterday afternoon with you and your minion. You may be annoying but you still have eye candy potential.

"What, why?" Is she really confused? Look at me, look at her. I look hot; she looks like, well, not like me. And, in this instance, it is a bad thing.

"Uhm, because. I don't even think they let you into where we are going in that. Not even I can get you in."And I own half of the club, so that's saying something. Well, not really half, but close to it. I thought it was a good investment; Charles thought they just got me drunk enough that I'd agree to anything. It's probably a little bit of both.

"Oh, sorry. I just got home from volunteering. Let me go put something else on." She bounds upstairs. Does three steps constitute upstairs? That's what really got me about three-step ranches. Not that I've ever been in many, but I've watched my fair share of home decorating shows on TV.

"Where you guys going?" Aiden seems a little miffed. Keep dreaming. The only reason she's coming with me is I want to take her drinking virginity. Yes, that's what I decided somewhere between walking past the ugly landscaping and holding the Annoying-Creepy hybrid. It must have been my plan all along. I want amusement. The first time is always the funniest time.

"Intrepid." Hey, I didn't name it. It came with that name. It just so happens to be one of the hottest places in Hollywood though. Kind of like me.

He laughs, well; at least it's not at me this time. Maybe there is something in the air in this house. It breeds hyenas. "You're taking Spencer to Intrepid?" I didn't think it was that funny. Funny, but not laugh out loud funny. Isn't he supportive.

I roll my eyes. At least my eyes get good exercise when I'm around these people. "She's a big girl. She'll be fine." The hybrid giggles, I guess he finds his daddy as funny as I do.

"Isn't she great?" Ugh, swooning isn't attractive on him, at all. Great? Has he met her?

"I have some few choice words for her." That I'm not going to be sharing with you.

"Here let me take him." I gladly give him his hybrid of a son. Aiden proceeds to bounce the little boy on his knee. Poor kid, his brains being rattled by a raging lunatic. "Spencer wants to start teaching him sign language."

Sign language? Uh, are his hands even large enough for sign language? But before I can comment on how lame the hyena is I hear her voice from the upstairs. "Alright, I am ready." She walks down the whole three steps, and then she is here. In front of me. Goddamn her. Did she teleport here? I am refusing to notice what she is wearing. Refusing. I will not look at her short skirt, or her tight tank top, topped with an almost equally as tight blue sweater v-neck over shirt. I will not notice. I will not look. I don't care. Looks can't get her everything, her persona is still obnoxious. "Is this better?"

Psh, like I would bother looking. Like I care what she looks like. I just decided I didn't. She could have kept the t-shirt and jeans. I don't care. "Yeah, whatever." I will not look.

"Wow." I guess Creepy doesn't have the same disposition as I. It's really for the better good. I'd have to really question my sanity when I start thinking like Aiden. "You sure you have to go out? We could stay in."

Wow, his subtly precedes him. Sorry, Romeo she is promised to me tonight. Plus, no one wants to think of the unholy thing of Creepy and Annoying in bed. "Nope, she's coming with me."

She nods and kisses the hybrid on the head and then Aiden. Gross. Wait, they call that a kiss? Jesus, I must not have taught the boy anything. This is disappointing. "Don't wait up for me." That's right. Your wow did nothing in ways of wooing your woman. I bet I could do a better job. Not that I'd want to.

"Really, don't." I start towards the door and she follows. I spot Madison making her way down the stairs, and rush faster toward the door. This night is not boding well. Banshees are symbols of disasters, aren't they?

"You be careful with her, Davies." Ugh, that voice could curdle milk. And that's just a gross image.

Freddy gets out of the car and opens the door when he sees us leaving the house. I let her climb in first. I may be a bitch, but I can be a courteous bitch. "This is Charles, Doc." I point to my man-bitch as he looks up from his magazine, taking off his glasses and placing them in his shirt pocket. "Charles this is Doc." Tongue is still safe.

"I'm Spencer." She sits down next to me, across from him, and reaches her hand out to greet him. He ignores it. He always does. She gets the picture and puts her hand back down between us. Charlie isn't really a friendly guy. Just like I like them.

"It's great to meet you, Spencer." But Freddy is the complete opposite. That's why Freddy is up there and Charles is back here.

He starts the car and we are off, away from this cheap B rated horror flick and into awesome, action packed LA. Ah, at least I have my soothing music. Freddy is good for something. He knows what I like. I relax into the seat, Charles picks up a new magazine from his pile on the floor, and Spencer looks at everything like it's made of gold. Wow, that's even too flashy for me. "The Beatles?" Don't head tilt me, Doc. Jeez, can't you leave the mind reading at the office? Don't super villains take breaks?

"What's wrong with the Beatles? They're classic." Why must everyone question everything I do? Perhaps I should get a narrator. You know, to avoid all unneeded questions on my motives and thoughts. Wait, that could be a very bad idea. How about I just get earplugs and ignore them? I like it better.

"Beatles, yes, but 'I've Just Seen a Face'?" There's absolutely nothing wrong with this song.

"It's just a song. Relax, Doc." A very catchy song.

"It's on repeat." So? There is absolutely nothing wrong listening to a catchy song repeatedly. How else is it supposed to get out of your head?

"Well I guess I really like it." What's it to her anyways?

"Like it? You've been listening to it nonstop for the last couple of weeks. I'm about ready to kick the remaining Beatles in spots I use to dream about." Did I ask him to talk? I wonder if it's illegal to lower his paycheck for pissing me off. He gets paid too much anyways.

"It's cute." I'm not cute. I'm hot. The things I do are hot. Why can't she get anything right? I hear a chuckle from Charles. Yeah, his paycheck is going down. Screw the law, I have good attorneys.

"Freddy turn on the radio, or something." I don't need this kind of abuse. Some local station comes on. Good. Much better. Even better, one of my songs is playing. She giggles, but says nothing else about it. What kind of twenty-six year old, professional woman giggles when sober? That's it, on Monday, I am checking diplomas. I have put it off too long. Maybe a background check is in order. You know, to make sure she's not supposed to be locked in some asylum somewhere.

Freddy stops the car. You know what that means. It's time to test my sanity. I can so do this. Charles is already exiting the car, black rimmed glasses in place. Are those really that stylish right now? "Come on, Doc." I exit the car and she follows. The screaming ensues. What can I say, they like me. "Take my hand, Doc. They'll eat you alive." Which might not be a bad thing, but I don't need negative headlines right now. Ones such as 'Hyena Comes on Arm of Rock Queen, Eaten by Angry Mob.' Wow, it's kind of catchy.

I don't even bother to look at the guy at the door, or the line of pathetic wannabes as I enter the club hand in Spencer's and Charles right behind us. I always go first. It's just how it goes. "I'll see you two later." Without anything else Charles is gone, and I am alone with the anti-Christ. This really is how horror movies are made. I'm on a horror movie kick tonight, I guess.

"Well, he's pleasant." Yeah, like an alligator in heat.

"He doesn't bother with new people." I can't blame him. I go through people like kids go through candy. Candy probably tastes better though. I start walking through people; they tend to move for me. I don't blame them. "We're going to the VIP seating. Try not to embarrass me." Not that she really could dressed in that. Nope, not going to notice it. Not at all.

"Oh, I'll try." She giggles as she grips my hand tighter. Ugh, can't stand her.

We make it up the stairs, to the balcony where the VIP section is located. Empty. Well, it is still early. It's better this way anyways. I sit at my favorite table, overlooking the dance floor. It's going to be a busy night, filling up already by ten o'clock. I eye Spencer as she sits across from me. Now is as good of time as any. "Let's get you drunk."

"What?" She looks surprised by the statement. What else do you do at clubs? What was she expecting?

"Drunk. You know. Alcohol. The stuff that makes me richer and happier every day." God, if there was ambrosia on earth it would come in a glass bottle and sell for six dollars a shot.

Her eyes are searching mine. Probably trying to use some sort of evil mind power. Too bad you're on my home turf, Doc. No mind powers tonight. I close my eyes to exemplify this fact. "One shot."

Good enough for me. I get up before she can change her mind. Not enough people are here yet, and I make it to the bar in record time. The bartender immediately scoots over to me, abandoning two girls in the middle of conversation. That's what I like, attentiveness. There's absolutely nothing evil about attentiveness. "And, what can I get you Miss Davies?" I know I should know his name. He's told me more times than I can count. Whatever, real names are unneeded; he's just the balding bartender in my head, and that's what he'll stay. I should really give him a cookie; other people like to overstep their titles, not mentioning names. He is rather obedient.

"Oh, just give me two of whatever is capable of getting me buzzed in one shot." What? I'm on the fast lane tonight. The faster the better. He hands me two shots. They're green, green is a good color, green means go, and all that.

I push my way through the crowd around the bar and make my way back towards our table. Who the hell is that? That guy leaning all over my table. He may get drool on my table. The table I plan to drink from, or something like that. How'd he get in the VIP section anyways? Time to hire better guards. First thing tomorrow. "Excuse me, but who the hell are you?" I put the shots down on the table in front of Spencer, but remain standing.

"The guy who is about to ask Spencer here to dance." Dance? Hyenas don't dance. Evil villains do not dance. The anti-Christ does not dance. Therefore, Spencer does not dance. Especially not with large, steroid ridden males. He'll probably step on her toes, or something.

"Alright!" What? Alright? Spencer takes the hand that the guy holds out for her, and they are gone, mixed in with all the other bodies on the dance floor. Whatever. I don't need her to be amused. I down both the shots. I definitely don't need her.

I do need another shot though. I need a lot more than shots. I make my way back to the bar. It's a pretty bar. I'm so glad the bar isn't blue. Nope, everything is red and brown and orange. I've never been so happy for hot colors in my life. "You looking to dance?" Does it look like I'm looking to dance?

I turn toward the voice. Oh, damn. I know her. I think. You can never be too sure about things like this. Whatever, she's hot, red hair, green eyes and freckles; I'm a fool for freckles. "Why are you asking?" Ha. This is more like it.

She nods and puts her hand on my shoulder, her hips moving with the music. She's getting closer and closer, and then her hips are gyrating into me. We are in time with the music. Have I mentioned I love music and pretty girls who do not have blue eyes?

It's about the point where she is nuzzling at my neck and I can feel her hot breath, probably breath that smells strongly of my favorite smells, expensive spiced rum and nicotine, that I spot her and jockstrap across the dance floor. What the hell? This dance floor is super crowded. Can't crowds of imbeciles do anything right? No one wants to see a hyena doing her mating dance, or whatever.

Her hands are running down my back now. I step back. "What? You were into this two weeks ago." Ha, I knew I knew her. Score one for me.

"No, I'm into it." I grab her and pull her closer than she was before; my hands roam wherever they please. That's the way my hands like it. Who am I to deny my hands anything?

"Let's go somewhere more comfortable." She is moving toward the back. She must be a regular if she knows about the back. Damnit, she's probably another person I should know their name. I'm hiring someone to take pictures of everyone I meet and put names on the back of every picture. I can study them later. Sounds like a good idea to me.

"Alcohol. I need another shot." She nods and follows me to the bar. I need something strong. Something super strong. She's handing me a shot. I guess she is a rum girl. I so called that too. I am so good tonight. Who needs super, evil powers? I can read minds all by myself, or something like that. I down the shot.

"You really needed that drink." She is lacing her fingers through mine. When I figure out Spencer's lotion brand I'll suggest it to her as well. I sit up on one of the fire red stools that line the bar and she leans against it watching me.

"Yeah, long night." I sigh and order another. I really don't think the bartender expects me to know his name. Is that sad? Oh well, who cares.

"I can fix that. I bet I can make it go much, much slower." She trails her finger down my abdomen. People love my stomach. They should, I work hard on it. I just wish they'd pay attention to other parts sometimes, like my face.

"Oh, and how are you planning on doing that?" Like I've said before, it's in my blood. I am a flirt by nature. I can't help it. I down the shot immediately when handed it.

"Ashley!" Spencer nearly falls on top of me, knocking me slightly off my stool, good thing I'm sober enough to catch myself with my feet. "Whatcha doin'?" Okay, someone gave her one too many, one too many five shots ago. She is clinging to my shirt to keep herself up.

"Doc, what the hell have you been drinking?" I pull her towards an empty table I spot in the corner. We're pretty lucky, by midnight there are usually are no empty tables anywhere. Then again, people usually move for me, so I don't really have a problem with it. I sit her down on the booth and I sit next to her. What? I like to watch the kids dance. It's funny.

"I don't know. He said it be delicious." She makes an adorably disgusted face. Only adorable because she's disgusted. She deserves to be disgusted for ditching me. "Ashley, it was sooo not delicious."

I laugh at her. Oh, the tables have been turned. I love these tables, especially when they are turned. Actually, right now, I don't want anything to be turning. Well, maybe dancing, can you dance and not turn? "One shot?"

"Oh no, he gave me some more telling me that they might be better." She really didn't hit me as the gullible type. Maybe it's part of her secret identity, you know, gullibility. "And, Ash, it never got better."

When we are both sober, I am so telling her never to call me Ash again. My heart hates it, even when it has a pound of rum pumping through it. Who needs blood when you have rum? "Don't take shots from stranger, Doc. You're supposed to be the smart one."

"Oh, I'm always the smart one, aren't I? I don't want to be the smart one right now." She leans closer to me. I can't breathe. She's stealing my air. The bitch. "I just want to have fun."

Fun? The Doc has a fun diversion. This must be a dream. I mean nightmare, I meant nightmare. "What kind of fun?"

She leans her head on my shoulder. Hey, those shoulders are not public property. "I'm not really sure. "

"Where'd your sweater go?" What? I just happened to notice that she has fewer clothes on than she did before. It has absolutely nothing to do with noticing her. It has everything to do with my love of clothes. It was a cute sweater.

She's giggling, making my body vibrate along with hers. Way to vibrate me, Doc. "Who knows!"

Okay, I will kill that macho asshole. He cannot strip my shrink, especially not in my club. There has to be some kind of social etiquette rule against it, or something. "Do not take any more clothes off, Doc. No one wants to see it."

"What happened to the girl you were trying to bed?" Huh? Oh damnit. Oh well, there are other girls, later. The night is still young, and all that.

"Trying to bed? Who says I was trying to bed anyone?" Yeah, I never said nothing. Whatever happened to innocent until proven guilty? And who the hell says 'trying to bed'?

"Ohhh. I saw you dancing. You were all," she trails her finger down my stomach playfully. I think I'm ready to vomit. My stomach feels like someone dropped a rock in it. "Don't try to hide it, Ashley Davies, I was watching you."

She always seems to be watching me. That's what evil villains do. They watch you and then they play with your emotions like a yo-yo. I loved yo-yos. Why can't they come back in style instead of leg warmers? I hate leg warmers. "You're right I wanted her sleazy ass in bed."

She laughs hysterically. You know, I never knew I was this funny until I met her. "I remember in high school when you were dating Liz Morgan. Now she was sleazy." She remembers? Okay, seriously, where the hell was my mind in high school?

"Why don't I remember anything about you from high school?" She shrugs, her shoulders hitting my shoulders, because she so wrongly decided that my shoulders were public property. Eventually I will inform her that she is sorely mistaken. I'm just waiting for the right time, and all.

"You were just too cool for me." Could be, I was too cool for everyone. "You slammed a locker in my face once." Yeah, I did that a lot too. It happens when you're good at being a bitch, like myself.

"Sorry." A cocktail waitress is hovering around the table, and I couldn't be happier. I grab two shots off her tray and throw a twenty down. I wave her away. No change necessary. Like I need it. I down the first one. "You know I pretty much hate everyone in existence and all that."

"Oh, I don't think you hate them. I just think you don't want them to hate you." Whoa. Who said she could bring her work to play with her? I know I sure didn't. I down the second shot. There, I am officially feeling the buzz. I like the buzz.

Did she just fall off her chair? Really? I don't think I've even ever done that. She should really get a prize. I stand and go around the table to stand above her. "See what happens when you try to use your brain karate on me in my club?"

She is laughing and reaching for me to help her up. I guess I have to oblige. I can't be seen with a klutz and all that. I pull her up and she collides into me. Why does the unfortunate always happen to me when I'm being nice? I should really squelch that bad habit. "Hey, Doc, you're in my space." I need room to form coherent thoughts, and all that.

"I really wish I was sober enough to dance with you." What? Me? Whatever, I just wish she was sober enough to stop slurring her words. It's annoying deciphering.

"Why? You had your jockstrap." Use of internal nicknames. Bad sign. Must lay off alcohol for awhile.

"Yeah, but you seem like you'd be a better dancer. I liked to watch you dance." Why are we still this close? Back away, Davies, back away. Damnit my legs are heavy again; they get like this sometimes.

"You got soft lips, Doc." What? It's the first time I've been this close to them. I have to compliment her on something. I mean, I haven't all night, and she was nice enough to come out here, and I mean. God. I hate her.

"Oh." Did she move closer? Damnit. The room is spinning. I can't tell. "You know, I always wondered if I was a good kisser. But I've never wanted to ask Aiden. He's bias, you know?" She is struggling hard to keep herself standing.

I'm going to say something stupid. I am going to say something so superbly stupid that it could be a world record of ignorance. However, I am saved. There really is a God. Tomorrow, I donate money to church. No, every church I see. "I really think you should get her home." Charles. When did he show up? He's the voice of reason, as we watch her sway trying to keep standing. Maybe I should change her nickname to baby giraffe? No, I really like giraffes. Especially the babies.

I nod at him. "She really can't hold her liquor." What I mean to say is, I should have watched her better. Whatever, she's a big girl. She can take care of herself.

He grabs her right arm and motions for me to take control of the left. "She is really good looking, Ash."

"I hadn't noticed." I shrug as we head toward the exit. Spencer is blissfully singing along to whatever song the DJ is playing. It's terrible, and I doubt she has any idea what the real lyrics are at all.

Charles helps me carry her out to the car in silence. It's not really all that hard she weighs absolutely nothing. Maybe I'll buy her donuts or something. She needs it. "I'm not going home. It's only midnight," Charles informs me after we get her securely in the limo.

I nod my head. I don't blame him. We're usually out much later than this. Way to kind of ruin the night, Doc. "Have fun." I give him a half-hearted hug and climb into the limo after Spencer.

"Yeah, you too." He winks at me and closes the door. Bastard, didn't even give me a chance to inform him that absolutely no fun could come from this situation.

"I really like jello. No I mean, I love it, I mean I could eat it for hours. Days even. You have to get the right flavors though, and the right brands." I know what I could eat for days, though it wouldn't really nourish my body, but, damn, does it to do the mind good.

"Jello shots?" Yum, delicious cherry jello shots. Why don't I have those in my limo? Oh right, the jello disaster of 2006. Must not relive it.

"You're silly. Alcohol tastes gross. I would never defile jello that way." I can think of a few things I'd like to defile.

"I'll defile you that way." It sounded good in my head.

"By pouring alcohol on me?" Anything is good with alcohol, even pretty hyenas.

"Aren't those called body shots?" Haven't I done them before? I just can't seem to remember right now.

"I don't know, wouldn't you know better than me?" Aren't you supposed to be the genius? Not so smart drunk, are you, Doc?

"You're letting me take body shots?" A girl can dream, and all that. What? I'm bored, it sounds like a good game.

"Wait, no. Did I say that? I don't think I did." She shakes her head, smiling at me with those perfect lips. Stupid lips. She may be annoying, but her lips are sexy vixens. That's right. It's possible. "Nope, I definitely did not."

"How do you know? You're drunk." So am I, but a lot less than you are, Doc. And I usually love this situation with the pretty ladies. Why's she got to ruin everything?

"I don't want alcohol on my body. I never want to look at it again." Now, that's blasphemy at its highest regard.

I must give her a chance to redeem herself. "What if it's pretty colors?"

"Nope, not even if it's pretty colors and it danced for me." Dancing sounds good. I wonder if she'll dance for me. Wait, she danced with that guy and not me. Not fair, I brought her here. I never get anything.

"One time, someone got me a stripper that was dressed as Captain Morgan. It was all hot, really." I was going through a pirate stage. What? You know everyone had at least a little one after Pirates of the Caribbean, even if they refused to go see it, like me.

"I wanted to be a pirate." That would be so hot.

"You're not the pirate type." But, if only she was. I'm drunk, I can dream, can't I?

"Argh!" She giggles after this uncontrollably. It must be contagious because I can't breathe. Too much laugher. "I think I'd make a good pirate, matey."

"Oh please. You have too soft of skin to be a pirate." What? I imagine pirates don't have very soft skin. You know, being out to sea, and all that.

"Well, I'll be an astronaut then!" Hyenas in space. I'm pretty sure it would be a first.

"But you can't annoy me from space, and that's your favorite thing to do, ever." She giggles and lays her head in my lap. First my shoulder, now my lap. My body is not a pillow. And if it was it would be a highly expensive pillow. None of this free junk she's throwing around.

"You're so comfortable. Has anyone told you that before?" She snuggles deeper into my lap. Ugh, she's insufferable. My lap is made for many things, but comfort usually is not one of them.

"Comfortable? Nah. Maybe sexy, hot, witty, talented, but not comfortable." At least I can't remember being called comfortable. That word has too many syllables anyways.

"Oh, well, you can be those things and comfortable." I can be what?

"Hey, Doc, you best be careful or I'll start to think you hit on me, or something." No answer. Figures. "Spence?" But she is fast asleep on my lap. Her gentle snoring starts, damn her for making me smile, as I run my hands through her hair.

"Should I put the song on?" Freddy calls back to me. Where would I be without Freddy? I guess not all people suck.

"Yeah, Fred, put the song on." And I sit and I sing along. It's just a catchy song. "But other girls were never quite like this, da-da-n'da-da'n'da."


	9. Doubting the Doubtless

**Session Six: **Doubting the Doubtless

Okay. So what if I didn't feel like circling the block today? It's getting a little chilly out, and all that. I wouldn't want my skin to dry up, or anything. It's almost award season, kind of, and I need to be prepared, and all that. Okay, why is the fucking sun mocking me? Today is going to be a terrible day, it is undeniable. I picked a penny up earlier and it was tails up, that's obviously bad luck, and I kind of saw a black cat from my peripheral vision. Really, it's a true story. Whatever, I just have a bad feeling about today. It doesn't help that I'm entering this office with annoying, super powered shrinks.

"Well, you're early." Must she remind me? I ignore the fossil and sit myself down on the far couch in the abhorrently decorated waiting room. "She still has ten minutes with Kate." Kate must equal hot redhead. I guess there are perks to being early. At least I don't have to worry about looking good; the perks of being me.

"Could we, like, keep this early thing between us? You know, pretend like I was at least a minute late." What? It's important to maintain the status quo. I wouldn't want the doc to think something so misguided like I missed her. Really, it's to save her embarrassment. I'm thoughtful like that.

Is the fossil laughing at me? Is this like a pre requisite to working here? I wouldn't doubt it. "Why would you want to be late somewhere?" Didn't they teach them in receptionist school not to ask the patients loaded questions? Maybe she should go back.

"It's my thing." I like things, things are nice. Mostly I just love the ambiguous when it works in my favor.

"So, Spencer seems to like you." Did I give her permission to conduct conversation with me? I could charge money for my conversation. Which begs the question, why am I here, having to pay the anti-Christ to listen to my nonexistent problems?

"What she say?" Alright, so I'm a little interested. I mean, I never get bored hearing of my amazingness.

"Oh, just that…" I should have cut that door when I was drunk last week. How dare it open just when it was getting good. Not that I care if a super villain likes me or not, it's just nice to know I won't be lasered in my sleep. That could be unpleasant. "Spencer, your noon is here." What a traitor. I still had time to hide.

"Ash?" Didn't we talk about the name? Okay, maybe not out loud, but she's the mind reader. She just wants to see how long it'll take her to give me a heart attack. Sick and sadistic, that's what this is. "You're early." You think she'll believe me if I tell her this is an illusion? Probably not. She crimped her hair, or something, today, not that I'd notice something so unimportant. Yeah, unimportant.

"Ashley Davies!" Hot redhead to the rescue. "Oh my God. I'm so in love with you." I tear my eyes away from paralyzing stare over there and lend it to someone with taste. Her face has gone red. I love this effect. At least some people know the right way to behave around me. "I mean, I love the music and you seem like an amazing person." That's right, amazing. I hope the doc is listening.

"She was here last week." Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed. Come on, Doc. Can't you let me revel in it a little longer? "So I'll see you Friday, Kate."

"I can't believe I didn't notice." Hot redhead ignores evil genius. She's so going to be lasered in her sleep. "I've followed your career since high school." As long as you're still not in high school, we're good.

"Well, it's always nice to meet beautiful fan." Might as well change my name to Casanova. "But it's rarely that I meet one as pretty as you." Okay, I'm laying it on thick, but I am killing two birds with one stone. The redhead is hot, and Doc looks annoyed. Which she deserves, by the way, for trying to give me heart attacks, oh, and for the shoes. I'll never forget the shoes.

"Spencer! Ashley Davies just called me beautiful!" She hugs the shrink. Is this how you repay my suaveness? By molesting the anti-Christ right before my eyes? As a kind of Christian, I am appalled. Yeah, that's it. And what's with talking about me like I'm not here? I hate when people do that. Ugh, fans. Can't live with them, wouldn't be rich without them.

She releases the hyena, finally. Hugs should have time limits or something. If Doc was annoyed earlier, it's gone now. She's smiling in my direction. Damn her and her mind probing smile and blue, drilling eyes. Damn her. It's official. She gets her kicks when I'm irritated. So sadistic. "You should hear some of the things she calls me." Hey, I rarely say the things out loud. It's not my fault you insist on reading my mind.

"I just can't believe this. Can I have an autograph?" She ignores the doc's comment. You know, my handwriting is terrible and my signature is barely ever the same twice. How do they tell the fakes from the real ones? Whatever, I can only imagine the amount of people that make money off my laziness. To each their own.

"Uh, I have to go talk to her. Sorry." The doc had retreated back into her office at some point. Damn my inner ministrations. There's no way she's leaving me with the wolves, the sadist. I follow after her, waving a goodbye to the hot redhead, who looks rather put off, but waves after me. I close the door in my wake. She ruins all my fun.

She's already sitting on the couch, shuffling through a vanilla folder. Could it be? The folder. I make haste to the couch, and sit. One day, I'll teach her how to sit correctly, the bum. Or I'll get her sunglasses, so I won't know when she's staring intently at me. Sunglasses with absolutely no tint of blue anywhere on them. "I was reading through it last night."

I can't blame her. My life is more interesting than any novel could ever be. Mostly because it stars me. I should write my memoirs. Well, I guess I can wait a couple years for that. I'll wait for Doc to make her evil intentions known to the world. My foresight will help sell many books. "Why read when you can ask?" It's not like you've had a problem asking anything thus far.

"My first report to the judge is due soon." I can only imagine that report, 'Does not play well with others' with a little bit of 'Handle with caution' thrown in for fun. "Plus, your file reads like a Lifetime movie." Lifetime? What kind of terrible TV is she watching? It's no wonder she's living with Madison. No one else would put up with it all.

"Hey, it's not that cheesy, Doc." If it was, I'm sure Lifetime would have already contacted me. They contacted Kyla once. I guess long lost daughter is cheesier than druggy daughter.

"That's why I am shredding it." Wait, what? She wants to make confetti out of years of unsuccessful therapy? The wasted moments of my life?

"Is that legal?" For an upstanding citizen she seems to have a criminal disposition. Not that I'm complaining. Well, except when she's stealing my things and blackmailing me. Actually, yeah, I am complaining.

"Not entirely." Figures. She's a miniature Bugs Moran. I get to be Al Capone, due to the fact that it is my daydream. "But this file is wrong about you." No. I'm sure most of it is correct. I really don't play well with others. "And I think you deserve a clean slate."

Damnit she used her powers to immobilize my tongue. So tricky. I watch as she stands. She's immobilized my legs too, so super tricky. She places the file in the shredder at the right of her desk. I can't believe she did that. I guess I'll never get to read the elusive file. "Spencer." Ow, my tongue. Well, not ow, but it definitely didn't like it. Now what? She's standing there looking at me; annoying head tilt in place, mind reading eyes reading. You're the one that said her name, ugh, just say something. Okay, or just sit there like an idiot. It's all her fault really, her and her evil powers.

Wait, we're hugging. She hasn't moved, and I'm standing. My arms are around her midsection, hers are at her side. She must be in shock, because I know I'm in shock. Damnit, I said say something, not do something. Can't I do anything right? She's hugging me back now, arms around me, pulling me closer. She smells good and right, and what the hell am I doing? You do not hug the enemy, especially sober, especially one that has Madison/Aiden germs. I pull away and retreat quickly back to the couch. Whatever, I don't do platonic touching.

She sits in her fashion again, facing me, but her eyes are trained at the floor. What? I'd figure it would take more than a hug to scare her out of mind reading gazes. Whatever, last time I checked a hug from me isn't the worse thing in the world. Some people would kill for one. "I didn't know you were claustrophobic." That's what she decides to break the silence with? Really? She's so annoying.

"I don't exactly wear a sign that lists my phobias so some deranged stalker can use them all against me." Okay, so I'm a little bit of a drama queen. Though, if you asked the media, I'd love to have that kind of attention. Whatever, I get more than enough attention without the stalker.

I guess that floors really interesting because it's getting the mind reading eyes usually reserved for me. Last time I checked, Doc, floors don't have minds. "Why claustrophobia?"

Isn't she supposed to tell me? What am I paying her for again? "I don't know." Charles says it's because I'm scared my big head won't fit in confined spaces. "I hate feeling trapped." Kind of like in this office. Does that mean I can leave now?

"Well, then it's a good thing you're not in prison." Oh, hardy-har-har. What a comedian. Where are those diplomas again?

"The cell would probably be bigger than this office." Better be, or my taxes are way too high.

"Yeah, but you'd miss me." There she goes again, assuming things. You know what they say about assume, and all that. Ashley Davies misses no one, ever, unless their names are Jack Daniels or Captain Morgan.

"In your dreams, Doc." I bet she has some pretty graphic dreams. She'd have to; she hangs out with Aiden and Madison all day. She needs some escape, but knowing her, they'd all be hyenas and anteaters. Whatever, better then banshees and jockstraps.

"You have no idea." Wait, what? I have a multitude of ideas. "Thanks for getting me home the other night." Did I have a choice? Her amateur drunkenness was obviously cramping my style, and nothing cramps my style. Wait, wait, I still have a multitude of ideas. You know what? Whatever.

"Yeah, whatever, Aiden opened the door and all that." Yeah, opened the door and stood there like the ignorant he is, as I try to balance his super powered fiancé, and yelled at me. Whatever, she's twenty-one plus. I'm not, nor was I, her keeper.

"Which reminds me, you're invited to dinner tonight. I think he might want to apologize to you." And I want him to jump off a cliff. We all don't get what we want. I'm so happy I got those shoes back. Don't want to give Bugs over there ammunition.

"I have a cook. I don't need your food." I have an amazing cook. I mean, orgasm in food, good. The one male on Earth I'd marry. For his food of course. Well, except I get the food without the lifetime commitment, and he's a fifty-seven year old homosexual.

"But you don't have the company." Yeah, I believe that's the point. "And Glen is cooking, and he's an amazing cook." I bet he's not orgasm good. He's with Madison, he knows little of orgasms.

"No offense, Doc, but your best friend is a bitch and your fiancé really only finds kinship in rocks." Wait, no, I meant total offense in that. She should dump the boy and find better friends. She'd be much more tolerable.

She's laughing. Hey, don't laugh, I'm serious. Ugh, why do I always feel like I can't win with her? I always win. "Oh, I know Madison's a bitch. She doesn't hide it. And yes, sometimes Aid can be on the slow side, but it can be cute." Cute? You think sleeping with a rock is cute? Whatever, to each their own. At least she admits I'm right. "But, I meant my company. Well, mine and Ian's. He seemed to like you."

She's bribing me with her hybrid. How unfair is that? "Just shut up. I'll come." And I don't mean in the good way. What? I owe her, or something. She did do that whole shredding thing, and I don't leave debts unpaid. You know, I would make a good Al Capone. I'll have Charles write it down for next Halloween. Whatever, this has nothing to do with seeing her, or her Spawn, or whatever.

She's smiling. Well, at least she's happy. Who could blame her? What the hell. Why are you smiling back, Ashley Davies? You're letting her evil powers bore into your brain. I look away. Take that evil, super powers. I shall not be owned by you. "Aiden will be so happy." Who? Oh, right. The rock. Who needs him?

"Whatever, why don't you ever do real shrinking?" What? There is a serious lack of annoying questions that I am forced to dodge with my silver tongue to preserve my own sense of comfort, allowing myself to dehumanize the questioner. Did I mention I've had many years of therapy?

"Oh, there is a plethora of shrinking going on, and what's your hurry we have over five months left." Plethora is so a word for the word-bee. Wait, five whole months? Five more months with Bug Moran's evil hyena clone? Well, I guess there are worse things. I could have gotten her fiancé as a shrink. Now, isn't that a terrifying thought?

"Isn't there, like, a good behavior release date, or something?" Well, I can't let her think I don't mind her ADD infested shrinking, now can I? She might get a big head, or something. I still think she's annoying and all that.

"Nah, you're stuck with me." Hey, Doc, you could sound a little happier. You get to spend five more months with Ashley Davies. I'm stuck five months with the anti-Christ. She's insufferable. "What's your favorite color?" At least she keeps me on my toes, I guess.

Do not say blue, fool, do not. "Green." Green? I guess it's okay. Grass and all that are green, right? Yeah, nothing wrong with green. I had a green Bug once.

"Mine's gray." Gray? Well, that's highly unexpected. Is gray even a color? It's more of a shade. "What's your favorite book?" Can't she even let me finish my inner monologue on one topic before she starts another? So annoying.

"Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy." What? It's all the robot. He drew me in. I'm not much of a reader, anyways. "What's with the twenty questions, Doc?"

She laughs. It's still quiet and long, and so much like music. If only I could bottle the laugh and avoid the super villain. But I can't, so the laugh shall remain obnoxious, especially because it always seems to be aimed at me. "That was two whole questions." Two pointless questions. "Just some things I can't learn from a file."

"Well, yeah, because those things don't matter much."Someone should send her back to school. Super genius or not, she's beginning to slack at this whole shrink thing. My favorite color has nothing to do with the fact that I don't play well with others.

"They matter to me. I really want to know you," she says it quietly. I think she's giving me a stomachache, or something. She makes me sick on purpose. How evil. I will not dignify such things with a response. I could if I wanted to, I swear.

Or, I will, because her eyes are trained on the floor again. "Doc." She looks up. Geez, I should have just let her burn holes in the floor, at least it can't feel it. Nope, I must be a sucker for saving intimate objects. Stupid, blue fire. "Is your kid deaf or something?" What? Aiden's voice kind of pounds like a jackhammer, you have no choice but to listen to words he says. It's obviously not by choice.

She shakes her head. "No." She chuckles. You know, I'd be scared to read her mind. She probably has non-stop satirical cartoons playing in there. What? It's the only thing that would make me laugh that much. Okay, well, it is a possibility. "Why?"

"Oh, what's his name said you wanted to teach your kid sign language or something." His name is far from worth mentioning. It's bad enough I'm going to have to see him again. You know, she's seriously bad luck. Not only has my heart started wanting me dead since she showed up, I've had to put up with Aiden and Madison for the first time since high school. And high school was a long time ago.

"It's to help him communicate better." Yeah, he'll need it. Look who his parents are. He'll either communicate on a lower frequency used for only jocks and rocks or he'll just stare holes through people. Either way he loses. "Aiden wants to get a dog." What does dog and baby have to do with each other? And Aiden is a dog, why does he need to get one? Probably wants some interspecies company. Can't blame a guy.

"I had a dog once." Do those small dogs that look like a mix between a squirrel and a cat count as dogs? Well, we'll pretend for right now.

"What happened to it?" Why do people always refer to dogs as its. Toby was more of a man than her fiancé will ever be.

"He got hit by a car when I was twelve." Poor Toby. It really was heartbreaking.

"Yeah, mine too. That's why I really don't want to get one." Is this like story share time? Because it's boring. "I'd regret it if Ian got attached to a dog, and then something happened." She's the coddling type, I should have known.

"Uh, he's going to lose something he's attached to sometime, Doc. That's life. Aren't you the shrink? Shouldn't you be telling me that?" Why don't I just take her diplomas and replace her name with mine. I'm better at it anyways.

"Oh, I know that. I'm just scared. I mean with Aiden gone all the time I just don't want something else that's going to leave him." Wow, that's a little too deep for this room. That's a little too deep for me. I'll punch the rock in the head when I see him next for making her more obnoxious by making her frown. I hate that. You know, when she's more annoying.

"What about regrets? What are your regrets?" Regrets? What's the point you only live once and all that. It's a really good thing that most things I'd regret, I don't remember. Thank God for drugs and alcohol.

"I don't do regrets, Doc." Much like I don't do pointless conversations, much like this one. However, she always seems to drag me into one. Mundane conversation must be another one of her evil powers. I will have to be on the lookout for it next time.

"Everyone does regrets. It's just a matter of how long they do them for. Like, this morning I completely regretted not laying my clothes out last night because I was running late." Why can't she think like normal people? That is not a regret; that is a miscalculation.

"Well, I don't do them at all. Too much energy worrying about shit I can't change." She nods her head but doesn't smile. Jesus, Doc, your annoyance is going to strangle me soon if you don't smile. Seriously, why would you wish death by annoyance on anyone? People will laugh at my death certificate. "Hey, Doc, you know I was pregnant once." What? Bringing up painful memories always puts a smile on her face, due to the fact she's sadistic.

"Yeah, I know." She watches me expectantly. What? That's all I got. I have no idea where I am going with this. I wonder if that confetti of a folder told her about it or her rock of a fiancé. My guess is on the confetti; it was probably more articulate anyways.

"I had the name Taylor picked out. Taylor Jordan. That way I could have a name without knowing the gender. I use to like surprises." That and whenever I got lazy I could just call them TJ. It worked. It was perfect. They would have been perfect. "But I lost it." That and a lot of other things. Why'd I bring this up again? "About four months in. A miscarriage."

"Do you ever wonder what life would be like if you hadn't?" As always, she hits the nail on the head, well the nail and me. She really likes to hit me metaphorically. If I could metaphorically bruise, I'd be in a lot of pain right now.

"Almost everyday. They would be eight or nine, depending." Third grade, still learning things in school I could help with. "But, I lost it, so what's the point?" I blame all this truth saying on those Goddamn eyes of hers.

"You were really young." Well, thank you, Captain Obvious. "Do you feel like you could have taken care of it?"

"I would have loved it and I had the money." And the best role models on how not to be a parent.

"You were still in high school, and your music career would have been hard on Taylor." It's weird hearing someone else say the name. I never told Aiden about it. It's not like he'd remember it anyways. Perhaps the Jordan part, but I can't think of any famous basketball stars with the name Taylor.

"Yeah, but I could have done without the whole music thing." Wait, really? Music has always been my dream. It's what I wanted to do since the first time I heard my dad sing. "I think." I really don't know.

Spencer's hand is over mine. She's looking at me, looking so deep into me with understanding that I almost forget she's annoying, almost. "You'll always love the baby you lost, and you'll always miss it, but it's okay to feel a little relieved. It's human, and no matter how much you like to deny it, you are human." Metaphorically bruised badly. I doubt I can metaphorically stand. I refuse to cry. She already got that show once.

"I don't want to feel relieved. I loved my baby, and it never had a chance to live." Stop looking at me, Doc. Stop looking at me so I can cry. She's so sadistic.

"But nothing caused the miscarriage. It just happened, Ashley. You couldn't do anything about it." It must have been Aiden to tell her. I always wondered if he remembers, remembers like I do. "It wasn't your fault. None of it was."

The sadist. She opened the flood gates. She probably knew exactly what to say. And her warm arms are around me, and I feel warm. I don't want her to make me feel warm, and I don't want her understanding, blue eyes always on me, and I certainly do not want to be holding onto her so tightly as she repeats those words over and over into my ear, but I am. I am, and right now I don't know if I can let go, and what terrifies me more is, I don't know if I want to.

She does. She releases me when my sobs become less frequent and my grip on her slacks. She pulls away from me, and I remember she's annoying. I remember she's barely tolerable. I remember I hate her a little. Especially because it's getting cold again and my heart is rebelling again, and I think she knows all this because she can read my mind; she can read me. "You were wrong last week, Doc." And I know what I mean, but I refuse to admit it to myself, and hopefully it's the one thing she can't read in my eyes.

"Oh, you always think I'm wrong." She's smiling playfully at me, much better. I can do this. This is what I do.

"Not true. Only when you disagree with me." Due to the fact that I am always right, even if someone can prove me wrong.

"Well, there's that ego that I love." Why's she got to go a use words like that? Doesn't she get that I am trying to recover back into my defense mechanisms?

"You're insufferable, you know that?" There much better. Nothing like a little reminder for both of us.

She laughs. This isn't a surprise. One day, she'll take something I say seriously. "I couldn't forget. You remind me all the time." Not all that much, out loud. More proof she can read minds. Isn't that illegal or something? "What kind of movies do you like?" I guess we're back to this.

"I don't know. I'm a Tim Burton fan, and I like Darren Aronofsky's work." Movies, now there's something I know. Who needs books when the real geniuses are writing and directing movies?

"Aronofsky is depressing." She would miss the point.

"That's life." She listens to crazies all day; you'd think she'd get that. So slow. "You like romantic comedies, don't you?"

"There's nothing wrong with that." I knew it. "I find them relaxing." Yeah, if you want to fool yourself into thinking that life ever works that way. And why is it that over half of them concern 'the cool kid' and the 'not-so-cool kid' hooking up? It always bothered me. So overplayed.

"Oh, come on, Doc. How many times can you watch lusty characters get some before it gets old?" The real question: how long can you watch them until your brain turns to mush? Maybe that's what happened to Madison.

"What's your favorite food?" Hey, that wasn't a rhetorical question. Whatever. Way to ignore me, Doc.

I guess I can share with her. She is required by law to keep it quiet, and stuff. "Hormel chili on toast." What? Chicken cor don bleu is overrated, and I hate caviar. Who wants to eat slimy, little fish eggs?

"That sounds really good." Damn straight it does. "You want to get out of here?" Huh?

"What?" Get out of jail free card? God, I hate Monopoly.

"Well, I'm getting a little hungry, and my two o'clock is on vacation, and I feel like watching a movie before dinner." Oh, right, I'm going home with her, and not in the good way. More like a go directly to jail do not pass go card. I did always lose at monopoly.

I roll my eyes. "I promised you dinner not a movie. Why can't you be a cheap date?" Don't even joke about dates, Davies.

"Because I'm high maintenance." Yeah, I could have figured that. "Oh, come on. We have OnDemand. I'll let you pick the movie." She's using my weakness for movies against me, damn her. One day, I will learn of her kryptonite and then I'll be merciless.

"Fine, but there better be at least wine involved." I can't do that dinner as sober as I am now. I'll possibly kill someone.

She laughs. Perhaps it is worth my time to try to invent a way to bottle it. Recording wouldn't get it right, it would be too artificial. Ugh, stop these ridiculous thoughts, seriously. Her annoying aura is rubbing off on me, I'm officially annoying myself. "Just the smell of alcohol makes me want to yak, but you can drink alone if you want."

Just like I like it. "Who says yak, Doc?"

"I do recall someone else using the word icky last week." Isn't there a law or something, you can't use things said while intoxicated against me. Just me, because things other people say are funny.

"Whatever. I was drunk; you're sober." It's a pity, really. I think I liked her drunk better.

She stands. "Oh, come on. You can make fun of me in the car." The way she drives I'm too busy worrying for my life to have time to make fun of her. It's probably the reason she drives like a maniac. So tricky.

I stand as well. I'm not Spencer-whipped; I just have an urge for a movie, even if it is in a house that creepy rocks and banshees live. "Try not to kill me on the way, Doc."

She grabs my hand and leads me toward the door. Damnit, I forgot to have the whole, my body isn't public property, talk with her. "I won't kill you; I'd miss you too much." I'll have that talk with her later, once my speech is restored and my body stops tingling.

And then we're through the door again, hand-in-hand again, and she's leading like she always is, and I'm letting her like I'm scared I always will.


	10. The Stars are Falling

**The Stars are Falling. **

We exit her death trap of a Civic. I'm adding parachute to her Christmas list of essentials. It's likely she'll need it sometime soon. That and a helmet. It'll probably save her life, and all that. What do they call the people who save the evil villain's life? Super, super heroes? Probably not.

I'm surprised my legs are still functioning. I thought I lost them out the closed window on the last left turn. I nearly did lose my fingers from lack of circulation. I'm sure I suffocated her door handle to death. Then again, it was alive, I'm sure it would have already died from fright long before I strangled it.

And to add to the fright, here I am, back in horror movie central, still wobbly on my legs. Wobbly is a word that should only be linked with debilitating substances; therefore, evil hyena is officially debilitating. I'm glad it's official. At least, out of the car, I don't have to fear for my life, due to the fact that I'm with a ruthless, super villain with laser eyes. Laser trumps knives; it's a given.

"Are you coming?" Psh, you can only dream, Doc. How'd she get to that door, the annoyingly white one with no doorbell? I swear, she can teleport. The superpowers must come in a group package, or something. She holds the door open for me and I walk through. It smells of rocks and banshees and hyenas. How do I get myself into these predicaments? Oh, right, because I was granted the misfortune of having the anti-Christ as my psychiatrist. Only the super lucky ones get this lucky.

She slips off her shoes and I do the same, but begrudgingly. I have to suppress the urge to lock the shoes in my arms. Don't want to give Bugs over there any ideas. The next thing I know she'll be asking for my first born in exchange for my sanity and a pair of shoes. The sadist. "Glen!" She calls into the seemingly silent mess.

"Lil' sis, you're home early." He enters the hallway where I am still concocting a way to lock my shoes down to the ground with maybe a fingerprint lock release, or something. Isn't he kind of short to be a basketball star? Doc got the super brain powers; he must have gotten super speed. A whole big, evil, super powered family. He has to be evil, or pathetic, sleeping with Madison. "Ashley Davies, you are more beautiful in person and I thought it would be impossible." Well, at least we know who the smart Carlin is, married to Madison or not. I mean, it's cool to study banshees not so much to study rocks.

Hyena rolls her eyes. Way to breach copyright laws and all that, Doc. "Glen, we're going to watch a movie." She begins down the hall, but her brick of a brother blocks my way. I bet him and Aiden are best friends, they think on the same frequency.

"You go watch a movie, maybe Ashley would rather cook with a basketball star." She smiles and me and winks. "I'll even let you lick the spoon." Oh, joy? He's like an overly presumptuous peacock. What's with their parents and animals? I bet they come from a hippo/giraffe mix. Seems fitting enough, I guess. Actually, that makes no sense, but they're the only exotic animals I could think of that weren't lizards.

"Bench warmers hardly constitutes star, Glen." So the Doc does have an annoyed voice. It must take a lot to annoy the definition of annoying. Peacock is so getting lasered.

His feathers are all bristled. Ha, I'm not the only one that finds her irritating. But he is the only one with feathers. "Yeah, a million a year for sitting on a bench is better than anything you could do." A million? For sitting? I'm in the wrong profession. Screw recording. I'm sure I can kind of make it through a basketball practice. How hard could bouncing a ball really be? I refuse to remember the horrors of high school gym class. Refuse. "I'm good. I just have to work my way up to starter." Is he directing speech at me again?

Doc's hand takes mine. When did she get pass the brick? More proof for my teleporting hypothesis. She pulls me passed him but not away from him. "If you'd rather hang out with Glen you can." I feel like I'm in the middle of a Carlin sandwich. If they weren't super powered, annoying animals, it could be a good thing. Why is every situation with her made two hundred times more obnoxious? What happened to simple? I like simple.

"Yeah, come on. Let's ditch BK." I really wonder what banshee would say if she saw this exchange. Can't blame the boy, Madison has no idea how to please, never did.

"BK?" Reminds me of Burger King, which may make me more nauseas than standing in this hall, between two bickering animals. At least Doc smells good. I guess. I mean, it could be worse.

He laughs. I figured it was genetic. "Yeah, buzz kill. She's been BK since high school." This would be funny, due to the fact that she is in fact the best buzz kill I've ever met, if it didn't cause obnoxious over there to frown deeply, adding extra annoyance into the air. Why's she always got to do that to me? Try to suffocate me with annoyance.

I grab her hand. She had dropped mine at some point, not that it matters or that I noticed, or anything. "I'm going through video withdrawal, Doc. "Damn her solar energy skin, thinking it's okay to heat my body. So unwanted.

"Whatever." The peacock stomps pass us. Who gave him permission to use my favorite word? "Chelsea is coming to dinner and Ian is sleeping," he calls over his shoulder, voice cheerful. I'll never understand these Carlins. Maybe I'll get lucky and they'll go back to their home planet, and then I won't have to worry about it.

"Now, I thought you never got addicted, not to anything." Stupid coy smile, thinking she's so smart. Next time I'll just leave the room when she frowns. Out of sight, out of mind.

"Well, movies are my exception." Movies and music can be my exceptions. My actual addictions. Hey, at least they're healthy.

She pulls me into the room that Aiden and I occupied two days ago, baby toys, dust and ugly couches abound. "Don't want to keep you waiting. I hear movie withdrawal symptoms can get really bad," she giggles as she hands me the remote. I'd inform her that her wit annoys me to new levels, if I wasn't enticed with the movie screen.

I grin manically. Perfect. I was hoping for Requiem for a Dream, but even I can't watch the end of that anymore. Once was enough. The Devil's Rejects will have to do. "Oh! I love this movie." Hey wait. No, she can't love this movie. I was planning on having sweet sadistic pleasure at her squirming. Again, she ruins everything.

"What?" This is a far cry away from romantic comedies, Doc. Last time I checked, Rob Zombie was not a romantic guy.

She is settling down into the couch that I sat myself into. Who gave her permission to sit in such close proximity? I should charge people for breathing my air, or something. Especially her. "I love horror. This isn't my favorite, but it'll do. I am more partial to The Hills Have Eyes."

"Hey, Doc." She looks over to me from where she has put her feet up on the coffee table. Ugh, animal. "Where's my wine?" I'm going to need it.

She laughs, what a surprise, and gets up; leaving in the direction I had seen the peacock go. What could I possibly have done to receive such bad karma? I mean, I give money to charities; I sometimes give bums a dollar or two, so why am I here, watching a horror movie with a super evil villain? Someone tell me this. She walks back into the room and hands me a bottle of red. "Merlot. It's all we got."

She sits back down on the couch, feet back up. She really can't ever sit correctly, can she? I wonder if there are classes for things like that. "Aiden's favorite." What? I remember some shit. I do, after all, need to use my amazing memory sometimes.

"He won't watch this movie with me. I made him watch House of 1,000 Dead Corpses. He nearly cried himself to sleep." I laugh. It's true. Aiden is a pansy when it comes to movies. Well, that and life. He's actually just a pansy in general.

"This one time he had to 'go home' during Child's Play. It was pathetic." I should have known then that he just wasn't the man for me. Who can't make it through Child's Play? Well, who can't make it through Child's Play that doesn't have large collections of dolls? I guess the latter isn't all that proven about the rock, so maybe he had a legit reason.

She laughs. Stupid laugh, being all nice and calming. Doesn't it know she's annoying? Someone should tell it. "Aiden and Glen are quite the pair with horror movies. They both try to be all tough, but they're both big babies." Maybe Aiden and Glen should hook up. They do think on the same frequency and everything.

"I thought you said your bother had his own place, or something, Doc." I don't listen to her. I don't. It's just sometimes when she talks it enters my head, completely unwanted I tell you. I take a large sip from the wine bottle.

"Oh, I did, and he does. Him and Madison have a strange relationship." Madison can't have anything other than strange relationships. Being sub-human does that to people. "Don't you want a glass?"

Who does glasses? The weak, that's who. "No, I'm good. All I need is this bottle, right here." Because I'm so tired of being sober around you, Doc.

"I never got it. Is she their daughter or is she just part of their singing group, or what?" Okay, so I am a talker during movies as well, that so doesn't give her the right to do it too.

"I have no idea. It's way too ambiguous for me, but I never feel like googling it." Yes, I know there are multiple things wrong with this. One, I responded, so should have ignored it; two, I used the world ambiguous in a sentence; three, I used google as a verb. I think another generous drink of my wine is needed.

Damnit, I forgot about this part. Must cover eyes somewhere. Damnit. I am forced with no other means to use the doc as a human shield. It was a last resort I swear. I in no way shape or form enjoy being so close to her. Ask my skin, it has goose bumps in protest. "I thought you wanted to see this movie."

Yeah, but mostly cause I thought it would annoy you, Doc. "I just don't like it when people's heads get blown in. It's annoying."

"Everything is annoying to you." Not true, I find myself rather tolerable. Okay, why haven't we moved? Please, please move, Doc, because for some reason I don't think I can.

"Hello," someone calls from the hallway. Yes, distraction. I love whoever it is. And I think it is safe to say so because my ears are not bleeding so it can't be Madison.

"We're watching a movie in the family room," Doc calls back to her. Finally she has released me from her paralyzing powers and I move safely to the other side of the couch. Stupid powers. There must be a way to drain them. That's something worth googling. I take another generous sip.

A young boy about eight runs into the room and begins to jump excessively on the other couch. Annoying. Must be related to the doc somehow. "I'm CJ!" He plops himself down on the couch. Must have jumped himself out. Don't blame him; the doc often sucks the oxygen out of a room. It must be hard to jump in a situation like that.

Spencer is smiling at him. "This is my friend Ashley." Haven't I had the friend talk with her yet? Damnit. We'll have it soon. I swear.

He must have decided that our couch was better because he sits himself between the two of us. I don't blame him, I mean, I am sitting on it. I'm only a little put off because it's crowded over here now, not because I'm no longer next to her. Like I care about that. "I'm Aunt Spencer's friend too." See, I knew they were related. Credits self a point.

Another person enters the room. Pretty black girl. Must be the kid's mom. Is it bad to hit on moms in front of their kids? I never could decide. "Hi, I'm Chelsea, this little rascal's mom." She sits on the other couch. Hey, kid, why don't you switch with your mom, or something? "Hey, aren't you that singer?"

I just don't feel like it tonight. "It's nice to meet you, Chelsea."

"Merlot? Drinking the good stuff I see." She's a smart girl. Too bad her legs just aren't up to my par. That must be it. It has to be something. Maybe draining my flirting powers is one of Doc's evil powers. It's plausible. Right?

I notice Spencer flinch. What? It's hard not to notice her actions. When she moves the annoying aura in the room moves as well. I can't help but notice. "I'm about to open my own bottle if I see another person spew blood all over." Look, I created an alcoholic. I think I'll be proud.

"I thought you liked the movie." Who gets to be smug? That's right. Me.

"Cool!" CJ shouts as the one crazy shoots the one guy in the neck. Ouch.

"I do, I do, but there's something about the bullet to the neck part." Yeah, can't blame her on that one. Look at that blood spurt. It's like a mini fountain. What happened to the good old fashion black and whites, where you can pretend that it's not red?

"That's the best part, Aunt Spence." Wow, what a gruesome kid. Definitely part of the evil villain clan.

"And when have you seen this movie, little man?" Better question, why would you want to? Hey, mom, you got a sick one on your hands.

A cry from upstairs. Too young to be Aiden, but screeching enough to be of Aiden's blood, must be the little hybrid. "Well, that's my cue. I'll be right back." She gets up and exits. Yeah, lucky.

"So, how do you know Spencer?" Oh right, other people are present. I swear I wasn't watching her leave. I just… it was her powers they make my eyes follow her.

What was it that she said to Madison? "We had coffee." Coffee? Wow, Doc, that is the lamest line I've ever heard. Chelsea's face leads me to believe she thinks so too.

"I hate coffee!" I guess the lameness is lost on the eight year old though.

Chelsea grabs the remote from the table and turns off the movie. CJ looks ready to protest but Chelsea gives him the old 'don't you dare' look. She does it pretty well. I wonder if it works on the doc and if so I wonder if she'll give me lessons. Some cartoon is on the TV now. "I'm so glad she's getting out." Make her sounds like a hermit, why don't you. "Usually all she does is work, work, work."

I take another giant gulp. It just so happens that I am part of that work. Too bad she isn't doing me in the good way. Ugh, I didn't mean that. "Yeah, she's crazy like that." I'm here for her to annoy me, right? Not because I'm work, right? Not that it matters either way. I'm just no one's obligation.

"I try to tell her she can't single handedly save the world, but she never listens." Maybe cause she's a super villain. You're just telling her the wrong thing. What you should tell her is to stop being so evil, or something. Super villains do not save the world. That's a fact. I think.

"She has a listening problem." That we can both agree on, and then some.

"Mom says I have a listening problem." Must be a super villain clan thing.

"Don't worry, kid, most people do." Hey, they do.

Aw, she put on Family Guy. I love this show. I can't believe they tried to take it off the air and no one killed the Fox network. Then again Fox deserves to die for a lot of other reasons. Always cancelling all the good shows. Damn Fox. But then again, there Sunday night lineup is the things of Gods. "SO, how many of Spencer's books have you read?" Way to interrupt a very important thought.

Wait, Doc's written books? Isn't this something someone should have told me? What do I pay Charles for again? "Books?" More wine is needed for this revelation.

"Yeah she published her first one a year after…" The girl looks pained. I feel bad for her, Doc writing something kind of pains me a little too. How could anyone follow it with all that ADD? "After CJ's dad left us." Oh, she must mean Clay, the one at prom. It all makes a lot more sense now.

"It's dedicated to me!" And not the anteaters of the world? Color me shocked. At least she made someone happy, I guess.

"Oh, how many are there?" This whole writing thing is obviously one of her plots to get the world off her evil trail; therefore, it is my duty to learn of it so I can defend us from it. Maybe I should lay off the video games

"Well, she has published six, but one is on psychology, and you can count e out on that topic, but the other five are fantasies." This deserves a giant gulp of wine. Or maybe I was just looking for an excuse? Fantasy? Well, there's a shocker. I wonder if she represents the hyena community in them. You know, support her kind.

Speaking of her kind she has returned with the Creepy/Annoying hybrid which so happens to be adorable. Two negatives make a positive, and all that. "You aren't talking about me, right?" There's no way she'd know if I bought her books, right? I mean completely for educational purposes. I need to know what I'm dealing with, and stuff.

"She's never read your books." Don't make it sounds like it's a crime, or something. It's not like she's Hemingway. I see her as more of a Heller. Neither of them know what they are really trying to say.

"She's not much of a reader." So what if her hair looks perfect with her face shape. It's not like I notice.

Oh, that's right. Snap out of it. "You never told me you write." And you should have because you ninja chop my brain and make me spew my secrets, it's the least you could do.

She's smiling at me. That so doesn't make it better, Doc. "Just like you didn't tell me you were claustrophobic. " Not fair. You don't have a file I can read. Not that a file would matter due to the fact she's an evil villain; their files are notoriously wrong.

Damnit, that was a perfect gulping moment, but alas all the wine is gone. It's that bad karma again. "Doc, I need a new bottle." And stat.

She eyes me wearily. Hey, you brought me here, Doc, face the consequences. "I'll make you sleep in Madison's bed if you pass out." Now, why would she wish foreign disease on me? It's not very nice.

"I have amazing tolerance." I better, for my health, and all. With my karma lately, Madison, the worse foreign disease I could possibly think of, would still sleep in the bed even if I was there. Too bad being sober is not an option.

"Wow, you must." I've impressed. It's what I'm here for. At least Doc has one tolerable friend.

Why is that baby getting closer to me? "Here, you can hold him. I'll go find more." Baby in arms. How'd he get there? Perhaps, he has powers as well. Not unlikely. Is it just asking for it to threaten a baby not to release any bodily functions of any kind? Knowing his parents, yes.

The hybrid giggles, gets the from his mom, and cuddles into my breasts, gets that from his dad. "He must like you. " Eh, well at least her baby is smart.

"He's a cute kid," I respond. It does help that his eyes are the unnatural shade of blue. What? It's cuter on someone who can't talk yet.

"He does have good looking parents." Perhaps. But let's not get too hasty now; Blue Eyes is way too cool for his parents.

"You mean hot parents." Damnit. I was hoping there'd be a terrible accident and I wouldn't have to see that, leaning against the archway. Not like a deadly accident or even an unnecessarily painful one, just one that kept him away for a long period of time. "Ash, it's great to see you." Don't worry, Blue Eyes, we'll both pretend like we don't know him.

I notice Chelsea roll her eyes. I'd speak of copyright laws, but an eye roll was needed and I was slacking. "Now to see you too, Aid."

"Chels, you look radiant." Blue Eyes, do not take after the rock. That is so not how you talk to the ladies. That's an amateur trying to release food from mouth, but chocking heavily on it. If only… Anyways, I will teach you how when you're a little older.

"What about me, Uncle Aid?" Hey, wait, they aren't married yet. He's so not your uncle. Whatever. I so don't care.

"Come here, little man." What's with the little man stuff? How degrading. The kid runs and Aiden engulfs him into his arms. Why would anyone run to that?"You can look radiant too." Now, I'd just worry if I was Chelsea, Aiden always was a little fruity.

Ah, Doc's back. She'll save the poor kid. Even villains save the day sometimes, or something. Wait, wait, is that a bottle of pinot noir? She's my hero! Ugh, don't quote me on that. "Aiden you're home early." She hands me the bottle and smiles. That's right, Rock, I so got a better smile than you. Not that I care for any other reason but my competitive nature.

"Yeah, I was hoping Ash would be here." He moves forward and packs her on the cheek. The cheek? Amateur. Hey. He's so sitting in the doc's place. I wouldn't care or anything, but Doc is frowning, and we all know what happens to my oxygen levels when she frowns. They're replaced with annoyance levels. I take my first gulp of noir. Proof there is a higher being of some kind. "Don't you want a glass?"

"Nope." Not that I would accept one from you anyways. Doc and the kid sit themselves on the other could. Would it be too rude if I joined them?

"She already declined when I asked." Anyone else notice how awkward the air is now? I obviously blame the rock. None of us are tuned into his frequency. Oh, and the doc for still frowning.

"So how was everyone's day?" I had to get up early and get mentally karate chopped your fiancé, thanks for asking.

"I had to go to school" Psh. Close, but I still beat you, kid.

"Sadly that is life, little man." The brick has returned. At least Aiden can communicate in his native tongue now.

The kid bullets toward the blonde haired man, nearly knocking him over with a hug. He's a feisty one. "Uncle Glen!" Smart kid, brick trumps rock.

"Hey you. Hey Chels." He waves to Chelsea with Feisty still around his waist. Chelsea waves back. She must have the patience of a saint. "Five minutes 'til dinner, everyone." Good. I'm starved. Win can only get you so far, and the smell of Italian food in the air is slowly dropkicking my stomach.

Doc stands. It's not fair that those legs are on her body. They make it impossible not to star. It's the wine, I swear. "I'll help set the table." What? You're leaving me? See if I ever come home with you again.

Chelsea stands as well. Don't even think about it. I like you; you don't want to ruin it. "Yeah, me too." You ruined it. Damnit, it's just me, the rock, and the kid. What karma.

They head towards the kitchen. Hey, kid, where are you going? The cartoons are this way. Choose the cartoons, damnit. "Can I test the sauce?" I can't hear the response, but it should have been, 'No, go save Ashley from unwanted, awkward conversation.' Never that lucky when she's around.

I can feel him shift on the couch., This means he's going to speak. Can't he be like normal people and avoid conversation by mindlessly watching TV? Mindless. It's right up his alley. "You know, after high school I never thought I'd see you again." I was hoping it. It never works out my way.

"I guess things happen." Unfortunately.

"Sometimes I just wish I could go back to being sixteen, before this all happened." I wonder if Doc shrinks him too. Blue Eyes reaches for the rock. What a traitor. We'll have to have a loyalty talk later on. Aiden takes him and sits him in his lap. They both look so at peace. I'd aw the scene if Creepy wasn't involved. Sorry, Blue Eyes, you're cute but he's creepier. "He was our little surprise." Wow, now that's a euphemism for mistake if I've ever heard one.

"You two have been together for a long time." Nothing like stating the obvious, Davies. Large sip of deliciousness is needed.

"Yeah, Spencer is great." Great? You better have better than great. Creepy, she should laser you in your sleep. "I love her, and she's given me this amazing son." Not good enough, but it'll do for now.

"Why have you waited so long to get married?" What? I don't want to know. The wine does. It has a mind of its own.

He sighs. "It just was never the right time." He sure found time to knock her up though and sure finds time to make her frown, not that I care. The ass.

"Dinner time!" He is so saved by the aching stomach. I stand, carrying my wine, and Aiden follows me, carrying Blue Eyes.

The call this a kitchen? Whatever. At least it's cleaner than the family room, since they eat here and stuff. It gets extra points because there is a rather large bowl of raviolis sitting in the middle of the table. Everyone else is already sitting. I watch as Aiden puts Blue Eyes in a highchair and sits at the head of the table, across from Glen, next to hyena, who's next to the highchair. I take the seat on the other side of Blue Eyes, next to Glen.

One other empty chair, across from me. Oh no. I can't eat across from her. I'll lose my appetite. 'Where's what's her name?" What? It's like Voldemort; you just don't say the name.

Spencer is passing the bowl full of deliciousness and I hungrily dish some onto my plate before passing it to Glen. "She's caught in traffic."

"Oh, that's too bad." Anyway she could get caught in traffic, underwater, indefinitely? What? I didn't necessarily say death. I have to wait until she gives birth before I can wish that. "This is delicious, Glen." Wine mines me more polite, I can't help it. It has nothing to do with the smile the hyena just gave me.

He beams; his sister has a nicer smile. Damn her smile, polluting my mind. "Thanks, it's my dad's recipe."

"My dad's an amazing cook." I wonder if Doc can cook like this. Ugh, no I do not. More wine is needed; I take another sip.

Door slamming, something large waddling in heels. Yeah, must be the banshee. Will give more money to improve karma because mine really sucks. She's standing in the doorway mouth agape, yeah, still an ugly fish. "Spencer, what is she doing here?" Good question. What am I doing here?

"I invited her to dinner." What she means to say is she twisted my mind around her super powered finger and made me do exactly what she wanted. She does it a lot. She's a pro.

"Well, I invited her. Spencer just relayed the message." Possessive much? Why isn't wine as strong as whiskey?

"I cooked!" Wow, he's like the fateful sidekick. Sorry, clown, I don't think it's going to work.

"And it smells delicious, baby, but shut up right now." And we see who wears the pants there. Poor million dollar basketball star. "You two know how I feel about her." What am I invisible?

"Come on, Madi, sit down." I hate when Aiden uses that voice. It's so strange that someone who thinks on the frequency of rocks can have such a condescending voice.

I stand. This so isn't worth it anymore, at all. Not that it ever was to begin with. "You know what? I'll leave." Pregnant means I can't trip her as I leave. Fucking karma.

I'm being pulled back into my chair. Damnit, Doc, do you lift weights? She must. That would be so hot. You know, if it wasn't her. "Don't go, Ash." Like I have a choice now that I know super strength is part of your elusive powers, Doc.

"Yeah, we were just getting to know each other." Yeah, until you left me in that room with Creepy over there. Who knows what he could have done to me.

Madison is fuming. Just how I like my Madisons. "You too Chelsea?" She makes it sound like I brainwash these people. Nope. They just notice my amazing-ness. Madison is just jealous.

"Ashley is my guest, Mads, can't you just ignore her?" First, I am not easily ignored. And two, I am so not your guest. This is just as bad as hyena calling me friend.

"I brought that painting, Madi." Looks like Chelsea is skilled at Madison handling. I should give her two gold stars.

Madison sits in the seat ready for her, and grabs for the food. She is eating for three, and all that. Doesn't mean I can't laugh when there isn't enough room on her plate for how much food she slops on it. "Thanks Chels. It'll look really good in my office."

"Are you really, really Ashley Davies?" Question from the kid. Where did that come from? Right, forgot, Doc is contagious. I keep forgetting.

Chelsea nudges him. My mom use to do that too. But a little bit harder. It's so not effective, no matter how hard you do it. "CJ, mind your manners."

I lean across the table toward him. "Yeah, that's what they tell me, kid. But let me tell you a secret, sometimes I don't even know." He beams. Every kid loves a secret. Even if it's one that doesn't make sense.

"We listen to you in music class. Shana dances." I have no idea who Shana is, but I nod anyways.

Odd Banshee noises coming from across the way. Poor Peacock, she must make terrible noises in bed. "Why aren't they teaching these kids real music instead of this fad music? Wasted tax dollars." This real music shit again? She's so tiring.

And cue the loveable, but annoying, sidekick. "You you like the sauce, babe?"

I always hated the sidekicks, so I ignored them. Much like right now. "My music isn't a fad. You're just jealous." Can't say I blame you.

"Excuse me. But I do not get jealous of burnouts." I haven't been called a burnout since high school. Do people still say that?

"What's a burnout?" Ohhh that's right. Way to say it in front of the kid. Madison loses a point. That's negative two million, or something.

"Nothing." That's right. Squirm Madison, squirm.

"You're Aunt Mads." What? It's the wine talking. The wine even knows she's a demon, or something.

"Ash, that was inappropriate." Maybe you should punish me, Doc. All night. Okay, no. That was the wine. I swear.

"Whatever, sorry Chelsea." I am not Spencer-whipped. My pinot noir is.

The woman smiles back at my apology. She's definitely the doc's best friend. She should just kick Madison to the curve. "Oh, don't worry about it. He's heard worse from his uncle Glen."

"But he's my champ. He doesn't repeat them after I bribe him with ice-cream." So blackmail does run in the family. I should have figured.

"Burnouts an ice-cream word?" Kid learns fast. He'll be running this family in no time. I wonder how it feels to be the Don of a super villain family. I'll ask him when he's older.

"Maybe me and Ashley will take you to get ice-cream later." Wait, what? Did I agree to this?

"I'll come too." Okay, I know I didn't agree if Creepy is going.

"Aiden, don't get in the way of Ashley's new crush." Whoa. I do not like what she is implying. If anything the wine has a crush on her. Not me.

"You have no idea what you are talking about, Madison." I scowl in her direction. I can't look her in the eyes, might turn to stone.

"Oh, I think I do better than most people." That she does. But I refuse to relive those memories when so infuriated. Ashley Davies no longer gets crushes. I'm not in high school anymore.

"Ashley Davies has a crush on me?" I am so going to adopt that little boy, and feed him ice-cream every night.

"You betcha kid." He gets my best smile and a wink for being such a tension killer.

"You know what I meant Ashley." Why doesn't the undead like anything die?

Aiden coughs. I wonder if he caught on what was going on. It's doubtful. I just have to worry about her. Wait, no I do not, because there is nothing to worry about. "So, Ash, I read the announcement of your new CD."

"Score. New CD means new music videos." Well, that earned the sidekick a slap in the head. Can't blame her. "What? I appreciate them for their directing talent." Yeah, and I go to strip clubs to admire the dancing.

"You put out new albums so fast. I don't know how you do it," Chelsea intervenes. Money is a major motivator. Actually, the best I've ever had.

"I can think of a few ways." Don't tell me I've drank too much to keep up with Madison, because I have no idea what that means.

"I just love the music and it comes to me." Yeah, it's something like that.

"So why name it Blue?" Because I have an odd fascination with your fiancés eyes, and think they are the most beautiful things I've ever seen. No, probably not the best to say. Not that it's true. It's the wine. It's warping my mind.

"I… uh… it was something that was in my head." Hey, make Madison stop laughing at me. It's not nice, or something. You know nothing. Nope.

"Blue. Like the blues?" Wow, Doc is slow. I thought she could read minds? Silly, Doc, she just likes to make me sweat.

"That's doubtful." She thinks she's so smart, with her smug look and her screeching voice. Whatever. For her information I only named it Blue because the blue eyes were annoying me at that particular moment, or something like that.

"So how are the twins, Mads?" I wonder if Chelsea would consider accepting a thank you hug later on. You know who doesn't hug me enough? The doc. Isn't hugging part of her profession, or something?

"Feisty as ever." Feisty must be a trend with kids in this family. "Especially at night when they didn't have Aunt Spencer to talk them to sleep." And look who's staring at Spencer now. Yeah, that's not me. Not that I stare often. I am just saying that it isn't me right now. Wait, wait, talks them to sleep? Are they serious?

"That and I had an away game that night." Poor Glen. I don't really think she cares.

Madison smiles at him and pats his hand. Just as I thought, eyes still on the doc. Don't look at my doc, banshee. Only I can steal awkward glances at her. It's my think, or something. "Right, babe. Of course." Must stifle smirk.

"Oh, I hope you have them before the wedding." Who asked you to bring up that abomination they call a wedding, hey wait, I don't have a nickname for her yet. Damnit. And I'm almost out of wine. This is disheartening.

"I just hope she doesn't have them at the wedding." Oh leave it to Aiden to come up with the worst case scenario. And then to somehow make it come true.

"I still get the hold the rings. Right, Uncle Aid?" Again, he is so not your uncle.

"Of course, buddy." Is buddy better or worse than little man? I guess it's up to interpretation. "Nobody else I'd trust with them." Something tells me I'd trust a lot of people above an eight year old. Just me, though.

"I almost forgot about the wedding." Wow, I haven't seen Madison that conflicted since that one time that had Grey's Anatomy and Charmed on at the same time. God, that was a bad TV year. "Will you be attending, Ashley?" Oh, she wants to play dirty.

"I really want you around, Ash." Yeah, you always did, Aiden, you always did.

"I don't know." What? Wine impairs my witty retorts. Give me a second to think of something.

"Ashley is coming and Madison, as the maid of honor, best friend, and roommate, how did you forget the wedding?" Can she just tell me I'm going? Did she miss the thought process where I clearly thought I am not Spencer-whipped, nor will I ever be? Jeez, and she calls herself a mind reader.

Wait, this is a perfect set up. I could kiss you, Doc. Wait, God, I take that back. Don't you dare blush, Davies. I will so kick my own ass. I'm not above it. "Yeah, Madison, how?" Stew Madison, stew in your own juices. Life is so good.

"The twins and my new team can be really stressful for her, lil' sis." For some reason, I don't think that that's it. Nope, can't keep the smirk off my face.

"Yeah, baby." Ha, Glen, you're such a tool. You and Aiden should have a tool party. "Spence, you know I'm always here for you. Always have been." Oh, she wants to play with fire. I can play with fire.

"Hey, Spencer."Damnit. I so stuttered on the name. Must push forward. Must destroy Madison. "I was wondering if you'd like to go to my show on Thursday. It's just a small show." She's looking at me with that head tilt. I knew it had been far too long since she read my mind. Good. Read my suspicions about Madison and leave all the rest of my thoughts alone, or something.

"We'd love to." I don't remember inviting you, Rock. Ugh, I so dug myself into a hole. Whatever, Doc is smiling; therefore, I kicked Madison's metaphorical ass. Go me.

"Yeah, you're all invited." Now no one can say I've never been generous. This better be a positive karma thing.

"Spence, Thursday is our Smallville and movie night." Okay, that's pretty lame, and date-ish. Just saying.

Glen smacks me on the back lightly. If only I had brought my bodyguards. It be fun to watch them frisk him or something. I bet he'd scream. "I hate that show. I'm so there."

Chelsea shakes her head. "We can't. School night."

"But Mom – "

"No buts." Okay, sitcom moment for a second. And not a good sitcom either.

"Tom Felton, Spence." Okay, that guy just looks way too old to be 19. I'm sorry.

Look what you did Madison, now the Doc isn't smiling. God. Someone needs to fill her in that the world is just more livable when the doc is smiling. It's just a fact of nature. I can't control it. "We'll talk about it later, Madison."

"I can't wait to watch you perform. It'll be like old times." Ugh, why would I want that?

"Hopefully, not too much like old times." Wow, I hate when me and Madison almost have the same thoughts. It makes me feel dirty.

Hey, Blue Eyes has a hold of my finger. How'd he get that? What a tricky baby. He does take after his mom a lot. "He really likes you." Who doesn't? I mean seriously, Creepy.

"He just thinks her calloused fingers are toys." Hey I pay good money for these fingers. Okay, well, they have to be somewhat calloused. But these calloused fingers play amazing guitar that makes me millions. Yeah, take that.

Chelsea chuckles. Hey, don't egg her on. "At four months they start to decide who they like and don't like." That's right. Blue Eyes has good taste. Well, except that one time he reached for his dad. It's okay he just doesn't know any better.

"Yeah, I remember when CJ decided he hated Mom and anytime she came in the room he'd scream." Glen talks a lot with his hands. It's kind of distracting. Large intricate circles. Oh man, starting to get dizzy.

"But I love Grandma Carlin." Sounds like a brand of cookies.

"We know, kiddo." Okay, kiddo is definitely below little man. I'm not sure why. It just is.

Aiden is laughing. I'd like to bottle his laugh, but for a completely different reason. I wonder if you bottle someone's laugh and then smashed, if it's gone for good. Oh well. "I can see how Mom C could scare little children." Everyone at the table is laughing. I want to inform him that Spencer's mom is so not his mom, but I don't know if they'd hear me over the laughing.

I go for more wine, but it's gone. Where has all the wine gone? This is hell. "Anymore wine, Doc?" I ask after they begin to calm down.

Spencer shakes her head, but still gives me a smile. Damnit. When did I start living smile to smile? Wine makes me a pansy. Stop being a pansy, Davies. "Two bottles is a limit." Psh, maybe for a light weight, who isn't surrounded by a walking high school year book.

"Yeah for a sailor." Oh, Madison. What kind of higher being would let you reproduce?

"Speaking of boats, Sean bought a boat last week." Wow, that was a good stretch, Chelsea. I give you props.

"Yeah, he said I could drive it next week." They let eight year olds drive boats now? I'm so glad I passed on the whole sailing thing.

"I want to get Ian a boat." What? He's already overcompensating for the poor boy. He's too young to even know what a penis is, Creepy, why don't you wait a few years.

"Blue Eyes isn't even old enough to walk." Oh damn. Maybe two bottles was a limit. Use of inner nicknames is never a good sign, ever.

"Blue Eyes?" Of course you couldn't just let it slide, Doc. You just love to torture me.

"What? His eyes are the most gorgeous shade of blue I've ever seen." Like yours, Doc, but with less you behind them. Who am I kidding? They are your eyes.

Doc is eyeing me and I can't read that stare. Damnit. Again, shrinks should be open like a book. Practice what you preach and all that. Madison clears her throat. Oh, someone's angry. Was it something I said? "I think it's time to clear the table."

Everyone is done. That really was some of the best pasta ever, and I'd come back, but the company was lacking a bit. "Oh, let me help," Chelsea offers.

"No, no, you and Ash are guest. Go watch TV." So now he is all into the mindless watching of TV. Just not when it is convenient for me.

Glen starts to collect the plates. "Yeah, there are four of us. It'll be super quick."

Madison pushes away from the table. All three people of her. "Excuse me, but I am going to go take a bath. Work was horrendous." She waddles up the three stairs to some unknown place that I never want to know of.

CJ is jumping again. Seriously, the kid makes me tired watching him. "Can I help clean? I want to scrub." Wow, the Carlins really do have brainwashing powers. I knew it. Poor kid. He never had a chance.

"Of course!" Doc sure is chipper. I'll pretend it was the retreat of the banshee. "Chels can you bring Ian with you in the family room? He gets fussy if he's in that chair too long."

"I uh… I can help if you want." What? Where the hell did that come from? I wouldn't know how to help even if I actually wanted to.

"Ash." Doc just shakes her head and points to the family room. Fine, fine, you don't have to tell me twice. I follow Chelsea into the family room.

We take seats on opposite couches. I watch as she playfully bounces Blue Eyes on her knee. Ugh, dizzy. I sprawl out on the couch. It's my only chance to save my stomach. "Too much wine?"

Is she crazy? "Never too much wine. Maybe not enough livers." She laughs at this. I don't see what is funny, it's true.

"You know, you stare at her a lot." It's not my fault. I like to know when she's reading my mind, you know so I can make sure my thoughts are cleaned up for her, or something. What? It's plausible. Ugh, don't judge me.

"That's because Madison eats like a cow." Avoidance is key in these situations.

"I meant Spencer." Well, I knew that, but you weren't supposed to say it. I'm not THAT drunk. Jeez. People just think because you can't sit up it just automatically means you're drunk.

"Well, that's because…" Think Davies, think. You use to be so good at this. "Well, because her eyes distract me. Rather annoying actually." Really, why's all the wine gone?

"She is gorgeous isn't she?" What the hell, does the Doc have a fucking fan club that I am not aware of?

"Yeah, she is." Okay, stupid, stupid, stupid. You did not just say that. If I could stand I'd punch myself in the face.

"I'd be careful if I were you…" For some reason I really don't want to hear the rest of what she has to say.

So I interrupt her. "I'm going to go call my driver." I half walk half crawl my way into the hallway. I think it's quite a feat. I'm pretty proud. Good thing Freddy is my number one speed dial or there'd be problems right now. He answers in one ring. Got to love the boy. "Fred, I'm at Spencers."

"What you there?" The question I've been asking myself all night, and then some.

"Hell if I know." I really don't remember anymore. Probably something to do with the fact that my shrink is the anti-Christ.

"Are we entering drunken rambling mode?" That's my Freddy. He knows me too well.

"Almost."

"I'll be there in a flash." He's too good to me.

"Fred – "

"I won't tell Charlie." Way too good to me.

"Thanks, oh and bring four tickets for Thursday's show." I hang up the phone. I may be drunk but I always keep my word. I'm cool like that, or something.

I manage to get myself back into the family room almost completely upright. I'm amazing. Hey, Doc is here now, oh and the rock. Can't he go shoot hoops or go to the gym, or something? That's all he wanted to do when we were dating. "Everything okay, Ash?" She has her hands on me, leading me gently to the couch. Can no longer feel arms. They have gone numb. I swear it's the alcohol and not her touch.

"I called Freddy." That sounded half-way intelligent, right? Please humor me.

"I could have driven you home." I'm sure you could have, Doc, but then I'd probably say something stupid that I'd so regret tomorrow.

"Spence, you have paper work and stuff. I could drive you, Ash." Doc is frowning. That's it. I am going to hit him in the head. Well, if I can find his head in this state. Okay, next chance I get I will, or something.

"I pay him salary. I might as well get use out of him." And I really don't want to be stuck in a car with Creepy. It's right in-between having my nails pulled off and having scissors drilled into my eyes.

Aw, Blue Eyes is crying. Yeah, I don't blame him. The idea of Aiden and a car is quite frightening. "I'm going to go put him to bed." She takes the boy from Chelsea's outstretched hands. "Don't leave without saying goodbye." Something tells me I couldn't if I tried. Stupid mind powers.

Chelsea stands. " I think that's our cue to get home." Spencer waves behind her as she enters the kitchen. "CJ!"

"Oh, you don't have to." Come on, that doesn't even sounds sincere to me Rock, and I am intoxicated. Poor Chelsea.

"Oh, I know, but he has school." That's even more insincere. Someone doesn't want to be around Aiden either. What a smart girl. I like her. "It was nice meeting you, Ashley." And what a polite one too.

"You too."

I watch as Aiden walks Chelsea into the hallway. "Bye Ashley!" I hear CJ yell as the door opens and then closes. Well, that was quick. I wonder if it always happens like that. Glen and Aiden walk back into the room. Oh God, my brain cells are deteriorating. Damnit I worked so hard for those.

"Well, I am going to go see about a naked wife in the bathtub." He practically clicks his heels as he heads upstairs.

Didn't anyone tell him that his wife is the size of a barn and there's no way there is room for him in that bath too? "Grossest thing I've ever heard."

Aiden sits next to me. Did I give him permission? No. Don't remember doing that. "You just watched Devil's Rejects, didn't you?"

"Your point?" Blood and guts are much more doable than pregnant Madison naked.

He is way too close on this couch. It's a big couch, bub. "We should really catch up sometime."

I have a bone to pick with you. I just remembered. "You should really be nicer to your fiancé." So what if I can't hit him literally, metaphorically has always done it for me.

"What?" I obviously surprised him a little. That's okay, I surprised myself.

"You heard me. It's so annoying when she frowns because of you. And she does it too much. And I hate it." I really, really hate it.

"I don't mean to." Whatever. She deserves better.

"Doesn't matter. She may be an evil villain." Oh don't give me that weird look, you so know I'm right about that. "But she's an obnoxiously cute one. So yeah, treat her better." He so better not tell her I said any of this. I'll never live it down, or something. "I'm going to go wait outside."

"I'll wait with you." He just doesn't get a hint.

"Really, don't." And I mean that from the bottom of my heart.

"Ash, come on. We've been friends for too long to be doing this." He's got to be kidding me.

"We stopped being friends, premature graying, when our baby died, and you left." Asshole.

He stands, peering down at me. Hey, you can't get aggravated. I'm the aggravated one here. "You decided you liked girls!"

"Whatever, there's more to being there than sex, you rock." I stand up as well, doing remarkably better at it than I thought I would. "Don't follow me." I sway my way to the front door and out it. Okay, that's about my limit. I sit myself down on the porch. Damnit. Now I am susceptible to the psychos that prey on women in the suburbs. Great.

Even better, the door is opening. I will so cut him. "I told you not to follow me."

"Oh, you tell me a lot of things, but not to follow you isn't one of them yet." Good, I'm glad she's here. Completely for her laser powers. I need them to fight off the psychos

"I thought you were your dense boyfriend." Dense doesn't even begin to cover it.

"He's giving Ian a bath." She sits next to me. Way to burn my legs, Doc, not that the fact that our legs are touching has any effect on me what so ever.

"I think I might have drank too much, Doc." Because I've been saying a lot of interesting things that I hope you never find out about.

She laughs. "I've noticed."

"Next time, one bottle of wine." What? Okay, now I know I am not thinking straight. What would Captain Morgan say to this?

"You'll whine at me if I do that." Oh so puny. It's cute. Ugh, damn her. She does it on purpose.

"I'll whine at you no matter what you do. It's what I do." Ugh, someone gag me. Please? Please?

She leans back and stares up. Stupid stars, stealing her gaze. I will so cut them. "I miss the stars when I'm in LA. In Ohio, there are so many more."

"Hey, Doc…" There are no words to describe how happy I am that you are in LA.

"Yeah?" She looks at me. Much better.

"You're annoying." I have to get things back on track.

She shakes her head and stares back at the stars. "That's not what you were going to say." Well, if you didn't read my mind you would be blissfully unaware of that.

"Stop reading my mind." It's best just to request these kinds of things.

"I can't read minds. I can just read you." Nope, I am a closed book. A mirage. An illusion. I am a mystery. Or something like that. No one reads me.

"Liar, you just don't want to give away your secret identity." I can't blame her. That's why it's a secret and all. But I mean I did figure it out. She should reveal it to me at least.

"Hey Ash."

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for coming tonight." Why's she always got to fucking say shit like that? Yeah, I've broken out the profanities. Two in a sentence. It means I mean business.

"Damnit, Doc. You are the most annoying person I've ever met. It's annoying the way your eyes make me feel like I can't breathe when they aren't on me, and it's obnoxious the way that my skin feels like it's on fire every time you touch me, and it is irritating that I live to see you smile sometimes." Where the fuck did that come from? Too much wine, way too much wine. Oh my God. She's staring at me. She hasn't said a word. "Just, forget it. Too drunk… and stuff."

Thank God Freddy has just pulled up. I need him right now. She still hasn't said a word. I'm getting up. Freddy is approaching. He hands her something, must be the tickets. She still hasn't spoken. He has me in his arms. She still hasn't spoken. He is putting me in the car. She still hasn't spoken. "I'll see you Thursday, Ashley." And she speaks, and she looks right through me, and I feel like I am going to puke for the first time in months, and it is all her fault, and it's all my fault because none of that should have been said out loud.

I watch as she gets farther away as the limo pulls away from my pulpit. And there she sits still looking at stars as she gets smaller and smaller. So why isn't this pain getting smaller at all?


	11. Living in the Moment

**Living in the Moment**

"Great show, Ash, great show." Damn straight it was. I take the towel and water bottle from Charles's outstretched hands. Being awesome is exhausting, but I'm good at it. "Too tired for the after party?" Charles knows how to treat me. He also speaks my language of sleaze and booze; I call it the language of fun.

I playfully shove him. What? Concerts put me in good moods. "It matters what kind of party we are talking about." Actually, it really doesn't, and he knows it. I love all parties everywhere. I am an equal opportunity partier. Never discriminate, and all that.

"The usual at Intrepid, but I got you a private party beforehand." See he knows how to treat me. Thus why he rides in the back of the limo. "You've been out of it since Monday." Well, that's because my evil super powered shrink, who could possibly be the anti-Christ, or a hyena, or both, drugged me with tainted wine. That's right. I've decided the wine was tainted. "You've been randomly cursing random animals all week." What? Really I haven't thought of her since Monday. I just hate animals, or something. Yeah. A lot, that's right. Whatever, it must be an after effect of the wine. "Anything you want to tell me?"

An evil villain disguised as an award winning fantasy novelist, the books were completely bought for research purposes, by the way, likes to poison me for her sick amusement. You think he'll believe that? Probably not. How about the anti-Christ likes to play with my emotions like a yo-yo? Perhaps. "No, I'm fine."

"You're lying." Is this pick on Ashley month? Because I don't like it. "It's the hot psychiatrist, isn't it?" To begin with, she isn't a psychiatrist; she's a mind reader, completely different. To end with, don't call her hot, it's not helping. Not like there is anything to help, but if there was, then it wouldn't be helping.

"Who?" That's right. Avoidance. It's on my list of top defense mechanisms, right under sarcasm.

He chuckles and shrugs. "I have a feeling you'll enjoy your after party." I better or I'm getting him a separate car to drive in, like a Saturn or something. We are at the door of my dressing room. "And don't worry, no hyenas. You've been bitching about them all week." He winks and he's gone. He's lucky he knows exactly how I like my coffee, or he'd so be fired.

I walk into the dressing room and am shoved forcefully into the wall, door shut behind me. She's blonde. Oh Charles, you spoil me. Definitely not fired. Perhaps a raise is in order. Not that I like blonde, nor do I remember that a certain evil villain is blonde. Actually you know what? She's not on my mind at all. Not one bit. Nope, just this nameless blonde as she pushes herself forcefully into me, knee against my center eliciting quite the moan from me. She's no amateur. The doc would have no idea what to do with her knees.

She bites down on my earlobe and nibbles her way down my neck. See, it's unlikely that a hyena would know how to nibble. Or where to nibble. She grabs onto my shoulders dragging me to the couch, pushing me down onto it, straddling me. Ew, I really hope she doesn't straddle Aiden. She is taking off her shirt. Okay, okay, mind back where it should be. Smoking hot blonde, half naked, on my lap, kissing down my collar bone, hands running down my front, just what I need to get my mind off tainted wine. Wait, tainted wine? What tainted wine? Doc who? Much better. Why yes, sexy blonde, you may take my shirt off. It was getting hot in here anyways. Hands on my belt. I do like where this is going.

Wait, is that the sound of a door? I am not liking where this is going unless it's another topless sexy blonde. The blonde looks toward the door, I guess she wasn't expecting any friends. I knew Charles wouldn't be that nice to me. I look over. You have to be kidding me. No really, God has the sickest sense of humor, ever. He has to, he did make Madison. Okay, this is no time to be making Madison jokes, because I am half naked with a half naked blonde on top of me and an evil villain with her rock of a fiancé standing in my doorway with my shirt laying on the floor the only barrier between us.

I nearly pushed the blonde off of me. Poor girl. Even more casualties in the train wreck that is the doc. Or am I the train wreck? Whatever. She's still an evil villain. Evil villain trumps train wreck. I win. I don't know what, but I win something. "What the hell are you doing here, Doc?"

The blonde, still in my lap, lets her lips slide across my collar bone. Doesn't she know that you don't do things like that in the presence of the anti-Christ? Something about respect or something. I move my head a little trying to give her the message. Poor girl, she might be lasered if the look in the doc's eye is any indication. Whatever Doc, learn to appreciate the female figure. "Well, don't let us interrupt." Yeah. At least it's good to know Aiden has matured absolutely none since high school.

At least the doc has elbowed him. I just wish it was a little lower and with a little more force. "You gave us tickets, Ash, remember?" Right, I just didn't think they'd come. You know, after she poisoned my mind with her tainted wine, I thought she'd have the decency to… I don't know, but not walk in on me with a half naked girl on top of me. That's for sure.

"Excuse me." Oh, the blonde can talk. "But we are busy. You can leave now." Oh man. I hope hyenas don't have rabbis because the doc is approaching us rather quickly and she looks vicious. I love my woman vicious. Wait, no. Woman not super powered villains. There is a difference.

Doc throws something at me. Oh, right my shirt. My shirt? Oh come on. She so doesn't deserve to see me shirtless. It's a sight that should so only be given to the lucky and the sleazy. She is neither. "She is busy. You're right. She is going to dinner with us. Sorry." Oh, blonde staring match. I like. Sorry, Sexy Blonde, but Doc has evil powers, evil mind powers, you have no chance.

Well. Hello there. The sexy blonde is so sucking on my earlobe. What? I am a sucker for the earlobe. The death glare Doc is giving her is only an added bonus. "No, I think she's busy right here."

Hey, don't look at me, Doc. I have been speechless since the initial shock of you entering passed and it's not like it's easy to be mobile when someone is straddling you. Hey, wait, where are you going, Doc? "Come on Aiden. We are leaving." They are heading toward the door. Well, she is, Aiden's eyes are still glued on us.

"Wait." Whoa. Okay, tainted wine has some long lasting effects. What are you doing, Davies? Sexy blonde straddling you ready to pleasure you in ways you haven't been pleasured in well over a week. But then again, every time I go there I hear the 'I told you so' Doc voice in my head. I am not a sex addict. Yeah, I guess I'm not really proving that right now.

Ha, way to look shocked Doc. I guess she can't read my mind when I am shirtless. I'll keep that in mind. Whatever. Yeah, I am pushing the sexy blonde off of me so I can prove to smug hyena over there that she is so never right ever, especially about me. "Seriously?" I guess she's never been shoved off before. Yeah, I can see why. Look at those abs. Ugh, I am an idiot.

I nod. I don't trust my voice right now. What happened to my luck? I was lucky once. Sexy blonde leaving with shirt in hand so does not equal lucky. It equals me dumb. "Wow, Ash." Look how articulate rocks can be. Amazing, isn't it? I put my shirt on quickly. I am so not their eye candy, or anything.

"How'd you get back here anyways?" Will boost security in the morning. Who am I kidding? She has super powers, it's not like they stand a chance.

"Freddy." Oh come on, Doc. Do not give me that look. I can have fun if I want to. It's not my fault you've been with Aiden for ten years; therefore, not knowing fun for ten years.

Wait, Freddy? And I thought he was on my side. "Oh." My amazing ability of speech has failed me. Why is everything failing me lately?

"Well, are you coming?" Huh? Wait. I so didn't agree to dinner. Did I? Why must she fluster. She gets a cheap thrill off of this, I swear.

Get it together, Davies, you are sober, you have no excuses tonight. "They bring me food here. Take a seat, or something, Doc. Relax." Yeah, that's right. I'm cool. I better start remembering this.

The rock clears his throat. Oh right, he's here. Why's he here again? "You too, Aiden." I'm feeling generous tonight.

They sit on the purple couch against the wall. Purple couches, not my style, ask Charles. There is always odd furniture in my dressing rooms. I don't get it. Sometimes he baffles me. Hey, you know, I'm not contagious. This couch, over here, isn't that bad. Whatever. "So, new friend?" Ha, you're funny, Doc. Is gag already on your Christmas list? If not I'll add it.

Wipe that stupid grin off your face, Rock, especially in front of your fiancés. Seriously, boys, I guess the two heads things means half the brains. "You could say that." You could? I didn't even know she could talk until after my shirt was off. Hey, still. Friends come in all different shapes and sizes, isn't that how to song goes?

"Oh, I bet." Hey, Doc, it's really none of your business. And for once, I am so justified in saying so. Last time I checked I was over twenty-one, and she was definitely over eighteen. Eighteen year olds aren't usually quite as skillful at removing clothing. That comes from a couple years experience.

"The show was great. Thanks for the awesome seats." At least Aiden's happy. It doesn't take much. He's still smiling like Christmas came early. Keep dreaming, dumbass.

Can't you smile, Doc? I can't blame it on the rock this time. Well, I can. You did just sit for two hours with him. I'd be frowning too. "Yeah, no problem. I always request some tickets just in case." Usually the just in case is I meet some rather good looking groupies before the show, but I think I'll admit that information for the time being. It just doesn't seem like it would be the best time.

"The encore song, it was new?" What's with her and picking up on odd random things? Odd, random things that I don't want to talk about. Whatever, that's her evil nature for you. I'm so glad I didn't know her as a child. I bet she was one of those million question kids.

It's just another stupid song about unrequited love. The radio is full of them. Why's she got to pick on my song? "Yeah, I wrote it last week." What? I must have fallen asleep watching some sappy, lovey-dovey movie or something on accident. Is it bad when your own mind doesn't believe you anymore? Ugh. "I'm sure the exec will get on my ass about it." I wasn't necessarily supposed to perform it yet, I've just been in the mood. Not a good mood, a mood that I'm going to kick my own ass about later.

"It was great!" Well, at least the rock enjoyed it. And I get to witness the phenomenon that is his limited vocabulary. Oh will the joys never cease.

Stop staring at me, Doc. If you aren't going to stop frowning at least have the decency not to look at me. Seriously, she's evil. And annoying. And irritating. And just downright obnoxious. I need to purchase a thesaurus. There has to be more synonyms of annoying. "Do you write from personal experience or do you tend to write just from observing the world?" Wait, so this is when she decides to sound like a shrink? I am so not paying for this. She already robs me enough.

Aiden is rubbing her knee. Hey, keep the PDA to a limit kids. I like to keep the contents of my stomach where they are at. What? Creepy and Annoying are an unholy alliance I am just disgusted at what their union means to the world. That sounded exceedingly more intelligent than how I feel. "Come on, babe, this isn't work. What does it matter?" Babe? She's so not someone you'd call babe. "Loosen up." Ha, first intelligent thing he's said… well ever.

What? Listen to your fiancé. What are you marrying him for if you're not going to listen to him? Jeez. "I… uh… it's a mix." There, be pacified, or something, Doc. Women are so insatiable.

The doc nods and I lose eye contact. Is she punishing me? She can't do that. Whatever, I don't care what she does, or what she thinks, or anything. "Glen says he's sorry they couldn't make it. Madison has been having some pains and they thought it was best to go to the hospital." Why doesn't he get punished? Blissful unawareness is more punishable than enjoyment. Didn't anyone ever tell her?

"Did you even know her name?" Wait, we are back on this? And you're not even going to look at me when asking? Well, that's just unfair.

Uhm, does Sexy Blonde count? "No." I really think that's the point of random hookups. The whole no name thing. When they get a name then it gets personal. You don't name your steak before you eat it, do you? It's like the same thing.

"You are completely sober, Ashley. Well, sober for you." I'm really not seeing her point here.

"Your point, Doc?" This is so not how the after party is supposed to go. Where is my orgasm? Where is my booze? No, no, instead I am getting a headache. A horrible headache.

"There should be more to sex." Not random hookup sex. And haven't we already had this conversation Doc? Ask your fiancé, he'll tell you all the benefits of random sex. I'm not in the mood.

There he goes again rubbing at her. No one gets rubbed in this room unless it's me or someone under me. He better stop. "Spence, let her do what she wants. It's not really our business. This isn't one of your sessions." Ha, so he did get a little bit of brain from college. I'm impressed. That's right. It's none of your business, Doc.

"You're right." She kisses him on the cheek. Hey, that goes for kissing too. No kissing in this room either. "I'm sorry, Ash. I just really worry about you." Well, you can worry about the headache you've given me. I think my head is going to explode. Thanks, Doc.

"Yeah, whatever." Whatever, I don't care that she's just smiled at me. She can smile all she wants. It's not like it can erase my headache, or anything.

"So what are you doing for Thanksgiving?" Going absolutely nowhere near you, Creepy. Thanks for asking.

"I don't do Thanksgiving." Turkey is usually too dry. The whole family thing is overrated. And talk to me some other time, when I'm not drowning in the evilness that emits from my shrink, about thankfulness.

"Everyone does immense amounts of delicious food, though." Well, when she puts in like that, I can't really disagree. Can I?

I love food as much as the next sane person. Because I am sane, by the way. "Yeah I guess." Probably such the wrong thing to say. Why am I always digging holes for myself lately? Don't I pay people to fill holes, or something? Where are they now?

"Come to our house." I can't. I haven't had it exorcised yet.

"I'll be cooking." Give her more chances to feed me tainted things? Like the wine. That damn wine. "We need to repay you for these tickets. We really did enjoy the show." Well, who am I to deny her repayment? Though, I can think of a few better ways she could do it. No, no. I meant, I meant something that involved… not seeing her. Yeah.

I hate it when people use the factory setting ring. Seriously. There's only so many times you can listen to that same annoying ring before you want to smash random cell phones in a rage. Figures it would be the rock's phone. He lives to make me go into angry rages. "I got to take this." He gets up and he's out the door. Well, that happened fast.

"He always leave when he gets calls?" She shrugs. Looks like I hit a sore spot. I'll keep that in mind for my search for her kryptonite. "Will you stop being moody if I come and eat some of your immense amounts of delicious food?" What? I like food. Anyways, I always give my cook that day off, and who knows what Kyla is doing.

"Maybe." She's grinning. I so won this one. Ashley Davies never loses. "But it's definitely your best bet."

"Fine, I'll come, but I won't have fun." Unless you count my goal of making Madison cry. She gets up and sits next to me. See, I told you this couch isn't so bad.

"I'll find a topless blond." She's laughing. Can it be you, Doc? What? No, no. I just meant that she already saw me shirtless. It's only fair. Oh, now we can joke about it, huh? What happened to death glares? Maybe she is the one that's bipolar.

"Doc…"

I'm kind of glad she interrupts me, because I have no idea what I was going to say, but knowing my track record lately, it would have probably been stupid. "Okay, okay, it's out of my system." Good, because my sex life isn't a joke, and I so never said you could talk about it, or something.

"Good, because I can find my own topless blond." I am Ashley Davies.

"Yeah I could see that." Oh, hardy-har-har. "So how much of Monday do you remember?" What? Why would you bring that up? I was so going to forgive you for tainting my wine and playing with my mind. Not now, nope.

"Some of it." Too much of it.

"Just want to remind you. You said one bottle of wine from now on." See, and that's how I really know she tainted the wine.

"I was intoxicated." With tainted wine. "That's not fair." Kind of like life when you are around. "You can't take things I say seriously after my second bottle of wine."

There she goes with the unreadable stares. There has to be somewhere to go where they can dip me in some toxic chemicals that will give me super powers. Well, as long as it's clean toxic chemicals. I don't want to get dirty. "Everything you say?"

What's she getting at? Damn her. Damn her to somewhere hot, but not hell, due to the fact that she's the anti-Christ and would like that. "Um, no, just most of it. Or something." Why is there no whisky in this room? They call this a dressing room. I'm so never playing here again. "But definitely the parts about limiting my alcohol consumption around Madison." I think I saved that one, or something.

"She's changed a lot since high school." Yeah, and I'm joining the abstinences club.

"You could have fooled me." At least she's smiling again. I mean, not that I care; I just worry for the rest of the people in the building. The air's already thin in here; they don't need her replacing air with annoyance. Me, I'm getting used to it.

She shoves me playfully. Damn her. Now I'm burning again. "You're so impossible." You have no idea, Doc.

"So, did you really want someone to eat?" See, I can be a good hostess, or something. Who wouldn't want me around?

She shakes her head. "Oh, actually. I'm not hungry." I'm not going insane. She did say she was earlier. Didn't she? Why must she always make me doubt my sanity? It's a game to her, isn't it? "So this is where all the magic happens?" Magic, indeed. At least she gets some things right.

"Yeah, two hours before the show and in-between every act all spent here." Not to mention the time you interrupted after the show.

Her eyes are scurrying the room. Not that I pay attention to her eyes. They're annoying, you know."It's big enough."

"I like my things nice." I do. And that's how I get all my things. What can I say? I deserve it.

Ugh, I should have locked that door when he left. I turn my head as he enters. "Yeah, don't we all." You so were not privy to our conversation. He sits back on the other couch.

"Important call?" Oh, you got the raised eyebrow. I rarely even get the raised eyebrow. Someone is getting lasered. Hey, and look, she's still sitting next to me. Take that, rock.

"Yeah, we have to get going soon. I have to pack." She's frowning. Goddamnit. I just alleviated that problem. The poor people of this building. He always makes everything worse. "I have to get to Chicago by noon tomorrow." If anyone sues for lack of oxygen I am so pointing fingers at him.

"You were supposed to go with me to the doctors Saturday." Doctor? Why doctor? You got off your couch a couple weeks ago, Doc.

Aiden is standing in front of her. Those better not be tears in her eyes because I really don't know what happens to the air when she cries. I really don't want to find out. "I'm sorry, hunny, I really am. One of my contracts is falling through." That is so no excuse. If she cries I am going to so break him. "You know I barely ever miss your appointments." Wait, why is that plural? Plural doctor's appointments? Super villains don't go to the doctor. This is just another evil plot. Right?

The tears that were building in her eyes are gone. "Don't worry, Aid. You know I understand." You may, Doc, but I don't. Why am I always confused lately?

Aiden turns toward me. Don't even look at me. You already got your free show today. I should make you pay for it. "Sorry, Ash. We'll catch up at Thanksgiving." I made her promise one bottle of wine. I never mentioned how much I'd drink beforehand.

"Right, yeah." You think she'd believe me if I told her I forgot when Thanksgiving was?

Spencer stands up. Can't he just go home himself? "I'll see you tomorrow." You mean I still have to go tomorrow even after all this? Life isn't fair.

I stand and walk with them towards the door. Hey, don't let it be said that I'm not polite. Doc stops. I really think this is her fashion. "Hey Ash." Yeah, so her fashion.

"Yeah, Doc?" And I am just a victim to it.

And then her arms are around me, hugging me close. She does this on purpose, because now I am not going to have another coherent thought all night, and now I am going to go around tonight and be pissed because no one else makes me skin burn. She does it on purpose. She's just annoying. And she's whispering in my ear, "You really are amazing." My knees hurt. They want to give out. I've always had bad knees, or something.

She lets me go and her rock of a fiancé hugs me, but I can't even feel it. "Bye Ash." And they are out the door.

After I am sure that I will not run into them, I exit the room. I must find someone. At this point, I just don't care who. Charles is sitting down the hall. He's obviously waiting for me. He always is. "Well, you look like you saw a ghost." I just nod. "Was she that bad?" Not bad, just evil.

"Who?" The coherent thought thing still stands, I guess.

"Tina."

I so could have used that name awhile ago. Thanks, Charles. "Oh, that's her name." I'll tell it to the smug hyena later, or something. "She didn't have time to be bad or good for that matter." That's a bad thing, right?

"What do you mean?" Charles looks genuinely confused. Yeah, welcome to the club.

"Ugh, let's not get into it." I really don't think I can. "Let's just get to Intrepid." I need large, large, bates of alcohol flowing through my system. Who needs blood when there's spiced rum?

He nods and begins toward the door. "Freddy is waiting in the car."

Freddy. He is so to blame for this. "Good, I have a bone to pick with him." My bodyguards are flanking my sides as we exit the building, heading to the limo. It doesn't matter; I can't hear the yelling or feel the grabbing because I am still living in a moment when an annoying blonde had her arms around me and her voice in my ears.


	12. Fight or Flight

**Session Seven: Fight** or Flight.

I slam the door shut to the waiting area. I know she's here. I know it. She's too good to park her annoying BMW in the parking garage like everyone else. Who drives a BMW anyways? Who drives a BMW and then parks it in front of a building? The amateur. And I know it's her car, I know her car. You really get intimate with a car when you've been naked in the back of it. What? There are just times that beds and floors are just not forthcoming. Very frustrating times. Whatever, don't judge me. Anyways, I saw it the five times I circled the block, which leaves me a half an hour late. Why hasn't she left yet? Why?

I stare at the fossil, she stares at me. We stare at each other. Spencer is so lucky that I have to bitch her out about the last night because it's still in my mind and the burning is still on my skin, which means I have to go to this session. I have to yell at her and tell her she's annoying and make this all right. Damn the annoying hyena of evilness. Damnit, why is she here? "I know she's here." The fossil looks like I've grown a third head.

No, no, you've grown the third head if you think I am going in that office if she really is here. That's for sure. "Do you mean Dr. Whitman?" Dr. Whitman? No, no, Brenda Whitman is not Dr. Whitman she's a snake I tell you, and they shouldn't let animals in the building, well I guess African ones excluded. So I guess that makes Brenda a non-African snake. Maybe one from Brazil, one of those large, scary ones you see in the rain forest, action movies. Those ones.

This isn't worth it. Nope. You know what? I don't care. The doc can listen to that woman talk bad about me. She can tell the doc how I am untreatable, and selfish, and not worth the effort, just like she told me. It's not like I care. The doc can think whatever she wants about me. I'm Ashley Davies who needs either of them. Especially the doc, I mean, who needs someone who drugs them and steals their shoes and reads minds and whose smile controls the world. Yeah, that way I'd have a lot more free time. I love my free time.

Okay, I am entering the office door with an angry crash because I am going to have to pay for this session anyways. I may have millions but that so isn't a reason to go around wasting money. Money is a commodity, and all that. Just as I thought, there she is. "You can leave." At least she isn't beguiling my couch. I love that couch, too much, if you ask me. But she is leaning over the doc's desk. Yeah, good luck trying to get through that prude shell. If she doesn't want me, not that I'd want her too, she sure isn't going to want you. "And stop breathing on her, she's sick or something, she doesn't need your germs." What? I only remembered multiple doctor's appointments because I am stuck in this small room with her. I don't want to catch something.

"Ashley." Can't you legally ban someone from using your name? You think that they'll make an exception for me? It's okay; I'll just take the gag I'm going to buy the doc for Christmas and glue it indefinitely in her mouth. "Dr. Carlin and myself were just catching up." Someone quick tell me what the difference is between manslaughter and murder, except that manslaughter you get less years. "I see you still make it a habit of being late." Self defense counts if you're protecting your sanity, right?

I sit on my couch. It's just me and the couch now. Just me and the couch. Who needs obnoxious mind readers anyways? She can go over to the dark side if she wants to. The anti-Christ kind of belongs there anyways. "Whatever." That's right, whatever. We don't care over here. Nope, not at all. Just me and the couch. I'll name him Hank. Me and Hank. Notice how Hank is a man. Yeah, I don't need woman. "This is my two hours. The two of you can catch up on your own time." Translated as: go crawl back into your coffin, you bitch. Or something like that.

"Actually." Oh God, I have never hated that word more. "I am here on business as well." Business? I see no pole. I see no whips. You must be mistaken. "Judge Brown wanted me to review your progress." Uhm, don't I already have a brain ninja for that?

Wait, this has to be illegal. I know I should listen more when Greg talks, but lawyer speak puts me to sleep, and I really can't concentrate when sleeping. See, it's all a very difficult conundrum. "I already got the doc to do that." Hey, Doc, way to not look at me. I see how it is.

"Yes, yes, but Judge Brown just wanted a second opinion on Dr. Carlin's first report." So, he sends you? I knew he had it out for me. Wouldn't it be easier just to get in contact with the mob, or something? Why go through the trouble of mentally assassinating me? The joys of torture, I tell you.

"What, Doc not doing her job well enough?" That's highly doubtful; Doc is a super evil genius. But then again, she doesn't shrink much. Oh well, anyone does the shrinking thing better than Snake. Ask Snake's couch. I was definitely moaning on it more than talking on it. Not that I'm complaining. Don't worry Hank, I like you better anyways.

"Can't you be respectful? Her name is Dr. Carlin." No, her name is Spencer, more commonly known as the anti-Christ, and I don't have to respect anyone, but if I was going to respect someone it would be the doc. What? You have to respect someone with lasers as eyes and that can read minds, it's like a law of nature, or something. "And no, Dr. Carlin is a very respected member of the medical community, there were just some interesting bits in her report that the judge wants confirmed."

"If it mentioned how amazing I am, it's right." I lean back on Hank. It's just me and Hank. We are the only sane ones in the room anyways. I bet Hanks the best listener here too. Can't I just have my sessions with Hank from now on?

"Brenda." Oh, breaking out the first names. Isn't that breaking some kind of doctor code? Could get ugly. "I really don't think this is necessary." Me either. I'm mentally beaten enough. Just look at my metaphorical bruises, they still aren't healing.

"Spencer." If they are going to wrestle can it not be with words. I kind of want to see some physical action. What? I'm not getting any, I'm deprived. "Ashley has a way of working people. It's what she does best." Hey, it's not all I do. Give me some more credit than that. Multiple orgasms on your part should tell you that that's not what I do best.

"Brenda." No really, please, just wrestle or something. I know the room is kind of small, but me and Hank would happily move more towards the wall. "I didn't graduate at the top of my class to have my intelligence questioned." Oh, aggravated tone. Score, Snake is so getting lasered.

"Spencer." Okay, see now I am just getting the feeling I am missing something. Why does this surprise me? Confusion is my new state of mind lately. Thanks, Doc, I didn't need a shrink before I met you, but now I am slowly creeping towards that point. "She worked me. Are you saying that I am not an intelligent person?" Hey, you know, I am here. Sitting right here. You know, in listening range. And how exactly did I work her? I mean seriously, it's not my fault when people fall for my irresistible charm. I can't be held accountable. I mean, technically, she should have known better, or something. It is her job. Plus, I am not trying to seduce the doc. What good would it do? Evil villains are impenetrable, not even my charm can get through.

Doc stands up, I watch her closely. Yeah, still no eye contact. What am I, the plague? Whatever, I still have Hank. "If you are going to stay. You can have the chair. I'll sit with Ashley." Oh look, she remembered I was in the room. Should I feel honored? And hey, no one said you could join us, Doc. Me and Hank are mad at you, or something.

She listens to my thoughts about as well as she listens to me. She sits in her fashion on the couch, but not exactly, she is facing outwards not towards me. Yeah, I must have developed the plague over night. You'd think someone would be nice enough to tell me. The snake is wheeling the doc's chair over toward Hank. I'm sorry Hank. I guess you are being abused by association. "So how long have you two been sleeping together?" I'm choking. On what? Irony I guess.

Spencer seems unaffected. God, it wouldn't kill you to blush or something. Sleeping with me isn't that bad, I swear. Whatever. I have testimonials. "We aren't." Yeah, what she said.

"Your report, Dr. Carlin, seemed more than friendly." It did? That's right, mentally brush off the shoulders. I'm too cool for school.

"It was a professional report, Dr. Whitman." You think she'll laser her in front of me? I've always kind of wanted to see someone get lasered. I don't know, morbid fascination. "I really don't understand why it interests you so much." I wonder if I can sneak out. I'm betting I have some good chances at it. Now the question is, would I do that to Hank?

"Oh, Ms. Davies knows why." What? Don't get me involved. I didn't even get to read this elicit report. Like usual, I am in the dark.

"Ashley told me about your past relationship." Well, look at that, the snake is pissed. I'm used to this. Woman angry at me is a pretty normal place for me. "And I won't be a part of your jealous tirade." Wait, jealous what? Eh, I guess I can't blame here, who could get over this? Or something like that.

"Excuse me, Dr. Carlin, but you are mistaking. I am only concerned about you and your feelings." You would think that I was some sort of parasite listening to her talk. I do recall her kissing me first. I don't think it really matters if I knew she was going to. What matters is she did it. Unlike the doc I don't have super powers. I didn't make her do anything.

Did I step into the twilight zone this morning? Tag team animals verse me. It's unfair. Life is so unfair lately. Why couldn't I be born a bear, or something big. "Seriously. Can you two stop." You're giving me a headache. I still haven't recovered from the one yesterday. "Or I'm just going to go." It's not like I absolutely have to be here. Right now prison looks better, and then I'd know how to make a shank, and then I wouldn't be in this situation in the first place.

Spencer's hand is on my arm. Damnit. I'm wearing long sleeves and long pants around her from now on. That's right, I can take her sadistic pleasure of burning me away if I want to. It's not like I enjoy it or anything. "Don't go, Ash."

"Dr. Carlin you could at least try to hide your relationship." Wait, what? What is going on here? My head is going to explode. She broke up with me. She had good reason to break up with me. So why the hell is she here breathing my air? For free, for that matter. Okay, Doc is looking deadly.

I better get a Nobel Peace Prize, or something, for stopping a super villain from killing a, well definitely not an innocent, but a person. "Can you just leave her alone. Seriously. There's nothing going on between us." Not to mention she likes to laugh at all of my advances like I'm a thirteen year old, horny boy, but that's beside the point. And I'll never mention it, especially not to Snake.

She rolls her eyes. What the hell is with everyone breaching copyright laws? I should talk to Greg about this. He'll probably laugh like that one time I wanted to sue that one door man for not knowing who I was. But in my defense, I was so drunk. "Kind of like there was nothing going on between us?"

You've got to be kidding me. "If I remember correctly, you're the one that didn't want anyone to know about us. You know, for the four months you were sleeping with me." What? I'm not completely without emotion. It hurt a little. I mean, seriously, who wouldn't want people to know you were sleeping with me? Or something along those lines.

She shifts uncomfortably in her chair. Good, she deserves it. Damnit. I know that face. Here it comes. "I'm married Ashley! And I was your psychiatrist!" We've actually been through this before, but I'm not quite sure why we are going through it again. Especially with mind reader, over there, present. I so don't need this.

But I'm not going to let her go all self-righteous on me. "I told you I could have found a different one." And I did. Quite a few times. What? I was a little smitten. You should see how this woman can bend, and yes, it can matter in some cases.

"I am still married." Now, you would think that she should have thought of that before she got all hot and bothered by my flawless body. She's also 'straight.' What a laugh. Whatever, I think she's the one who needs a shrink.

Time to stop this before it turns sentimental. So not in the mood for that. "Yeah, with an eighteen year old son too." Shut up, Doc. Don't decide to look at me now. Whatever, I don't care what she thinks. At least I'll always have Hank's affection. "How is Josh?" Yeah, that's right. Who's the winner now?

"You really are a heartless bitch." And when I said winner, I meant heartless bitch.

"No." Really, she'll always be the winner in that regard, who am I kidding? "But I'm nobody's secret." What? It sucks. Especially when there are millions of fans who are ready to be on your beck and call and the one you want doesn't even want to acknowledge you half the time. Not that that's how it was, but if it was, it would suck. Whatever, it's not like she kept me from a good time, or anything. Not like sadistic over there.

"You need to leave, Dr. Whitman." Spencer is standing, motioning toward the door. "I will contact Judge Brown and he can take whatever steps he thinks is necessary, but you need to get out of my office, now." Evil powers, evil powers, use them, use them. What? You'd be wishing the same thing too if you were in my position. Don't judge.

Snake stands. Why'd I have to give her a nickname that sounds like a prison inmate? Oh well. She's domineering enough, and the fact that she's six foot, she can pull off the nickname. "You'll be hearing from me, Spence." And then she's gone. Wait, Spence? A little too unprofessional for my taste. Whatever, I just don't care at this point. Can I please go home now? That was a waste of my life that I want to sleep off, or drink off, whichever comes first.

"I'm really sorry about that. The judge wasn't happy that I destroyed your file, and I guess he didn't believe that we've been making a lot of progress, and I had no idea she was going to show up." She's still standing, but at least she's looking at me again. "Forgive me?" Psh, I still think this whole thing is illegal if you ask me.

Damnit. Who wouldn't forgive that? Look at that pout. I mean, I mean, you have to forgive a super villain; you know, the powers and stuff. It's better for your health. "Yeah, whatever, Doc." That's so the best she's getting.

And she's back to sitting in her fashion, this time facing me, and I swear I will mentally beat you, Davies, if you smile at her. She totally ruined your day already, probably your whole weekend, by letting that snake in here. "So, lots of history between the two of you?" Wow, Captain Obvious returns. I think even Aiden could have picked up on that one.

I'm so not talking about this with her. She'll just have to read my mind to get all the details. "So, the fiancé leave?" And for the good of humanity, never to return?

She nods. "Yeah, he'll hopefully be back for the holiday." Hopefully? Doc, me and you have a very different hope on this matter. Hopefully, the rock will hit his head or something. Chicago does have an annoying amount of construction. And he can get amnesia for awhile, allowing me to have something to be thankful for on Thanksgiving. What? I said awhile, not indefinitely. I'm playing nice.

"Does he go to Chicago a lot?" I just have nothing else to talk about. And, you know, it's kind of tragic when super villains are alone. Even in the old movies they'd have accomplices. They just aren't made for being lonely, or something.

She nods again. "Yeah, most of his work is out there. He loves the city. He wants us to move there." Less nodding more smiling. I can't really cut him from here, Doc, so to save me a plane ticket and all that, you best start smiling soon.

"Who would move someplace where it is winter eight months out of the year?" No, seriously. Natural tans are seriously lacking in Illinois. And other than Chicago really all you have is corn there. I mean, and plus, superman lived in Kansas, or something, why would she want to follow the whole super villain/hero cliché? Really, it's just best if she stays here.

She laughs. Much better. Just saying, I mean, I can't deny she has a nice laugh. Be better if it was on someone else. There, I so made that one better, or something. "I did live in Ohio for sixteen years. It's like the same thing." Have I even been to Ohio? Is Cleveland in Ohio? Oh, hell if I know. Oh, wait I remember Ohio. There was a serious lack of fire hydrants everywhere we went. No, seriously. We looked all over for them. What? You think of a better past time when you're as high as a kite on a huge bus traveling through the middle of nowhere.

Think of something quick, Davies. "Yeah, but if you move to Illinois then you have to put up with half the country either spelling your state wrong or pronouncing it wrong. I'm sure it'll get annoying." Wow, I am so unbelievably lame. There is practically no place on this planet for someone as lame as I feel right now.

"I never took you to be one caught up in state pride." She's enjoying this. The sadist.

Whatever, move to Chicago. Terrorize those people with your evil super powers, Doc. I don't need you. "Whatever, Doc." I'll add an eye roll here for good measure. She deserves it.

"I'd rather stay here. My job is here, and my friends, and my family." Okay, if anything, being half a country away from Madison should be a plus for Chicago, but I'm not telling her that. What? If she leaves then I have to break in a new shrink. I'm not attached, or anything, it would just be a waste of time.

"Make him move there himself." She's laughing. Well, at least she finds my Aiden hating funny. I was beginning to think it was a bit unhealthy. I mean, at one time I was sharing his bed, a lot. Ew, do not think of such nightmares, Davies. You'll cry yourself to sleep tonight, or something.

"That's not really the point of marriage. And I have to think about what is best for Ian." Aw, Blue Eyes. He'd be much better off if Aiden was in Chicago anyways. I mean, think about it. What can the rock really teach him? How to strike out with the ladies. How to bounce a stupid ball. How to look in the mirror excessively. How to take way too long to get ready. All things I could teach him. Or, you know, the doc could teach him, or that nice Chelsea girl, or even the brick.

I shrug. "Blue Eyes would be fine." I'm sure of it. Plus, he's too cute for Aiden anyways. There has to be a law somewhere that says that rocks shouldn't raise children. They could forget them somewhere, or something, while they get in a conversation about themselves, or buying something that makes them feel better about their inabilities in bed.

Look, look what has happened. All thoughts are failing me. Look at that smile. Ugh, she's brainwashing me again. I'll have to up my attempts at finding her kryptonite. "You really like him, don't you?" Of course, he's got the ocean eyes without the mind reading powers.

"He's a cute kid." He takes after his mom. Ugh, see, I told you. Thoughts are failing me. Her smile is poisonous, or something of that accord.

She bites her bottom lip. Damnit, Davies, what did I tell you about noticing mannerisms? Don't you even say it's cute. Don't you even think what you could do to those lips. Ugh, make it a new rule, have large bats of alcohol ready and waiting after every session. I need it. "What would you consider your sexuality?" Uh, where did that come from? ADD super powers seems like they'd be quite the hazard. Just saying.

"I don't label." I should really get a shirt that says this. I've answered it enough times. But then I'd look like one of those 'I want people to think I'm a punk kid without saying I'm a punk kid because real punk kids don't have to say they are punk kids' kids. That made sense.

"Seems uncommitted." Yeah, you would say that. Says the woman who's in a ten year relationship without a ring. Well, at least she's got a rock. Ha, oh the cleverness of me. What? Sometimes some self satisfaction is needed.

"No, that's not it at all." Why am I bothering? Oh, right, because ADD hyena over there thinks she's always right. Well, she's not. Only I can hold that title. Reading minds doesn't automatically mean you're always right, right? Right. "I just think that when you start putting labels on love then you're bringing it down, or something. I mean love shouldn't be limited, right?"

"And I thought you didn't believe in love." I see how it is. You so only listen to me when it'll annoy me. Yeah, figures.

"Well, I mean, love, lust, same thing." Seriously. I mean. Love at first sight? Sounds suspiciously like lust to me.

"I beg to differ." You would. Would it kill you to agree with me ever?

"You would, Doc." Because agreeing would be easy, and would make my life easy, something that may kill you to do. "Okay, then lust shouldn't be limited." Got to protect my right to lust.

"And how much is lust on your mind lately?" Entirely too little if you ask me. Maybe I'm getting sick or something. That could explain it. Or, super evil mind powers could as well. Whatever, both are as plausible.

"You know, the average, normal amount." The amount that is nowhere near sex addict. Yeah, that amount.

"Yesterday instead of asking if I wanted something to eat you asked if I wanted someone to eat." Fuck you, Freud. Ugh, that's not eve n fair. Yesterday I had a half naked blonde straddling me.

Not that it makes a difference if it was a blonde. I don't have a thing for blondes lately, if that's what you're implying. I was just a little turned on, and, ugh. Shut up and say something, Davies. Try to make it sound intelligent at least. "Maybe I was being extra generous." Would be intelligent if it didn't make me sound like a pimp. Whatever, I'd even make pimping look good.

Stop smirking, Doc, or I'll start wearing tinfoil on my head, or something. What? It works in all the movies. Hey, I'm sure I could find a designer that has worked with tinfoil. One of those, I'm saving the world with my fashions while making myself millions, designers. "Blondes aren't really my type." Does that mean it's brunettes? Shut up, shut up. What? I wonder for completely objective reasons. I mean seriously you think Madison could throw a good bachelorette party? Doubtful. Again, the burdens of life fall onto me.

"Her name was Tina, by the way, Doc." Yeah, take that, Doc. I believe that's a point in my favor.

"And you found thus out before or after she took off your shirt?" And there goes my point, dissolved in her acidy sarcasm that is her voice. How is it possible that she makes fun sound bad? It takes a special kind of person.

Whatever. What does it matter to her anyways? You don't have to be a sex addict to have nameless sex, right? It's like a rite of passage. And rites of passages are good. Therefore, nameless sex is good. There is so some kind of math theory that backs that up. "Your point?" Because I so have a point, I just don't know how well it'll hold said out loud.

"Your sister might be joining us for Thanksgiving." Either she forgot her Ridlin this morning or her point is kind of twisted.

"I didn't know you two here that close." Me and Kyla are barely Thanksgiving close and we share DNA. Well, half DNA, or something strange like that.

"Oh, we're not, but her and Aiden are." They are? She never mentioned him before, but then again I only hear half of the things she says, so I guess it's possible. Well, maybe. "They've kept in touch." I didn't even know they knew each other. Whatever, they'd probably make the perfect couple. They could bore each other. Kyla could read some boring play and Aiden could buy a full length mirror and pretend to listen.

Speaking of couples. "Tell me her snake of a husband isn't coming." I know. I have a thing for snakes today, but I hate him, and not even a little, a lot, and his name rhymes with snake.

"Jake?" See, I told you. He doesn't even have a real job. HE does some ridiculous shit on his computer, that entrails him begging me to introduce him to acquaintances of mine. Like I'd really want anyone to know that I am forced to associate with him. "I haven't seen him in years." Lucky. "I don't think him and Aiden get along." What a coincidence, I don't get along with either of them.

"First and last time I'll agree with the rock." Okay, it's not the first time, but if I'm lucky, it'll be the last time.

"Your niece and nephew should be coming too." Oh, right, them. I almost forgot about them. I think I'm the girl's godmother, or something. Emily and Mike, that's their names. At least I'm not that bad.

"How old are they now?" What? I said not that bad, not saint. I'm busy and stuff, and Charles handles the card department.

"Five and four." It's really been that long? Oh, how the time flies when you only remember half of it. I don't give myself enough credit. I probably remember three fourths of it. "Not much of a family person?" What could have given her that idea?

"I met Kyle my junior year of high school. Right before I turned seventeen." The doc nods. I'm telling you, her eyes hypnotize you into telling your inner most secrets. I bet she works for the government part-time. She'd make a great, well, one of those people that break the enemy spies. Yeah, that's her. "We didn't get along and by the time we were finally civil to each other she was going away to college." I bet the government pays her well too.

"Well, she always says good things about you, even when we were in high school." She did? There really wasn't many good things to say back then, and that's hard for me to say, due to the face that I'm awesome, and always was, but not always to Kyla.

"Like there's anything but good things to say." That's right, Davies, dust off the shoulders.

"Well, arrogant for one." Psh, way to bring me down, Doc.

"Hey, you're not arrogant if it's the truth." Mhm, yeah, who won that one? Yeah. That's me.

"I really don't think it works that way." Of course it does. What do they teach these kids in college nowadays?

"It works whatever way I want it to." As do many things. The doc just doesn't seem to get it. That's alright. I don't need her. I have other people that get it.

She's laughing. Of course she's laughing. Obviously, I just live to amuse her. Whatever, I imagine it's not hard to amuse an ADD ridden hyena. "My case and point. You are arrogant." This deserves an eye roll. Which, of course, makes her laugh harder. I always lose when she's around. Ugh. "Do you ever talk to your mom?" Way to bring me down farther. Way to be, Doc.

"No." And thank you to all the named higher beings for that. I want to make sure I thank the right one for that gem.

"What is she doing now?" You're the anti-Christ, you would know better than me. Don't you keep tags on all your evil minions?

"She's living in some hotel in the hills." Like where all the stereotypical, middle aged, gold digging, burnouts, way past their peak, but try to keep it with disgusting plastic surgery, live. Well, the ones in California.

"Sounds fancy." She's obviously never been to a hotel in the hills. More tacky trying to pass off as fancy.

"Sounds wasteful." She's better at wasting than me, and that's saying something. "She doesn't have uch money left." You know, it's obviously easy to train ten million dollars nowadays. New faces and breasts and whatever else don't come cheap. "And it's unlikely she'll find another million dollar playboy anytime soon." Even Hugh Hefner gets thirty and under. And Mother thinks anyone worth under two million isn't worth her time. Whatever.

"And you don't take care of her?" Stop looking at me, Doc. Damnit, you're getting the sunglasses early. I so don't need your 'tell me all your secrets' eyes.

I shift uncomfortably. Damn you, Doc, and your evil hypnotizing eyes. I so hate you a little. "I may pay for the room, but that's all she's getting from me." Doc nods. Oh, don't look at me like that. You so don't know me. What? Reading minds doesn't automatically mean knowing. It's true. I think. "And I don't pay for her room service. That's all her." See? I am a hard ass. She whined about the room service thing for a long time, but nope, I put my foot down.

Does it really surprise anyone that she's laughing? Maybe I'll just get her a hyena for Christmas. I'm sure I could manage it. Then she could have some kinship in her life. "Not her room service? You're cold." I'll just ignore the sarcastic tone and agree. Like I was saying, so cold.

"And you're annoying." I'm glad I got that off my chest. I haven't told her in awhile. I'm afraid she'll forget or something.

"No, I'm impressed." She is? I mean, of course she is. Who isn't impressed. See, I told you before, Doc, I'm pretty impressive. "Your mother was awful to you in the past. It would be easy for you to do the same." I um… Yeah, I got nothing

"Yeah, well…" Yeah, still nothing. I swear I'm a badass. Ask any magazine around, badass. I must protect my image. It's dying here. "I do have the media breathing down my neck. Homeless mom isn't exactly PR." Got to protect the PR.

"Neither is running your car into a pole while intoxicated." Well, she's got me there, but still. I can't remember ruining my PR at that time; Charles can't murder me for something I can't remember. At least that's what I tell him.

"Have I told you you're annoying lately?" Cause if not, I can always make a shirt that says it. Something along the lines of 'My evil, super powered, villain, hyena of a shrink is annoying.' I wonder how many I could sell.

She nods. "Yes, all the time." Must not be enough if you're still smiling over it. I so mean it, Doc. "So what was your favorite subject in school?" Lunch, obviously. "And don't you dare say lunch." Now, it's just common decency not to read someone's thoughts and then just say them out loud like that. How rude.

"English." What? It was interesting. And it was easy to make up answers in if I didn't really know the answer. Or something like that.

"I thought you weren't much of a reader?" Yeah, and I thought I was getting out of prison taking this deal. But no, I'm in a small room, with no escape, but with no shanks.

"Yeah, but Mr. Powers read out loud." Which so alleviated most of my problems with English. "And that whole transcendentalist stuff. It was interesting enough." What? It was pretty pragmatic, and I'm a pragmatic if I've ever met one.

"I was in that class." No, there's no way. There were only fifteen kids in that class.

"No, I would remember that." Seriously, if she looked like she does now, I would have remembered. What? It wasn't a compliment, per say, it was just an observation. I mean, I think I would have felt it if ever-changing shade of blue eyes were reading my mind back then.

"You and Liz passed notes excessively during the Shakespeare unit." So not proof. Me and Liz passed notes during all the classes we had together. "And you told Mr. Powers that The Tempest was overrated and he told you that it might be, but it was the shortest." Close your mouth, Davies, you look like a stupid fish. Do you really want to be in the same plane as Madison?

"Okay, maybe I wouldn't remember all that." What is with this? Did she sit in a dark corner, under an invisibility cloak? No, you know what, she probably used her evil powers and erased her memory from my mind, or something. This must be part of her evil plan. "And how do you remember all that?" Why would I ask an evil genius that?

She shrugs. She has nice shoulders. What? I can so say that. Shoulders aren't sexual. That's right, because I so don't see her sexually. That's right. Not at all. "Stuck out in my mind." Can't blame her. I do stick out. Always have. "I told you. You were just too cool for me in high school." Now, I know I was cooler than everyone in high school, it's just that not everyone agreed with me. Madison and her friends included, and Doc was her best friend.

"You're the one that hung out with the cheer breeders." She gives me a momentary eye roll. Do I have the half eye roll copyrighted? I'll have to look that up. What? Old nicknames die hard. It's not my fault.

She shrugs again. Stop with the shoulders. Or start wearing longer t-shirts. You pick, Doc. "That didn't make me cool." I wonder if she's ever told Madison that. The banshee would probably screech the poor hyena to death. It would be tragic.

"I read your books." Wait, where did that come from? That's supposed to be a secret. See, I told you about her eyes. I wasn't joking. They're deadly.

Hey, at least the doc looks more than surprised. "Really?" I nod. She's beaming. Well, that was easy enough. I mean, at least I know how to relieve annoying tension from the air, or something of that accord. "Wait, all six of them?"

Is she crazy? I tried to get through that one psychology book and nearly cried. Nearly cried on the second page. "No, the five of them I could understand."

"Ashley, that's nearly six thousand pages." Ugh, why's she got to bring that up? I was ignoring that fact. It's more reading than I've done since high school. Well, no that's a lie. That's more reading than I've ever done. In high school, I only did the assignments with the books on cassette.

"Well, I mean, I started. I had to finish." I'm not a quitter. That's right. Even if that means I got barely any sleep this past week.

"Didn't you just find out about them on Monday?" Why isn't there a do over button? I'd so do over this conversation. Learn to keep your mouth shut, Davies.

"Your point?" Seriously, Doc, can't you just leave anything alone? Must you always make me feel like I'm digging holes? You're such a sadist.

"Thank you." What? The anti-Christ doesn't thank. "I really don't think Glen or Aiden have read any of them." I really don't think Glen or Aiden can read, Doc. "They call Caleb C. They say it's just easier. I just think that they can't remember the name." Yeah, not remembering the main characters name, a definite clue they haven't read it. Aiden is so lucky he's over three thousand mile away, or I'd so own him. What? They were good books, or something.

"Yeah, well, don't mention it." Really, please don't. "One question though, Doc." Now how to ask this without admitting I cried at the end of the series. Remember, protect the image, Davies.

"He had to die at the end. And not just because I didn't wanted to be tempted to write another." Or, I don't have to think of a way at all. I guess having a mind reading shrink isn't all bad. "He accomplished so much and then he had to conquer his fear of death." Is that a good enough reason to have me crying for an hour? I'm not even a kid. I knew she was the anti-Christ; she wants the youth of the nation sobbing for hours. That's pure evil.

"Yeah, it was kind of emotional." You bitch. Or something like that. What? I can call her a bitch. Just no one else can. I'll stake my claim now.

"What's your worse memory?" I really can't decide. You shouldn't make someone decide something like that.

How can you decide between your dad and your baby? Again, more proof that she is evil. "I can't decide."

The doc nods. Why's the mood so somber? Ugh, I could have stayed home and sulked. "Both are about death, right?"

Why do you ask if you can read my mind? "Yeah." Really. I don't know why we have conversations. We can just sit here and stare at each other. Well, she can wear sunglasses and then we can do that. I don't need to start spilling my soul or anything like that.

"Yeah, it's the same for me. My mom died when I was twenty, and then there's Clay's death." Wait, what? "Caleb kind of conquered it all for me." Wait, wait, what?

"Your mom's dead?" Ugh, really sensitive, Davies. Why don't I just go jump off a cliff or something.

She nods. Way to go. Now she's frowning, and you can't even blame Aiden or Madison, or anyone but yourself. Well, I could blame her. What's she doing bringing this stuff up? "So tell me about the new album." Well, I guess it's not staying up for long. I guess the ADD saves the day, or more likely her just changing the subject.

"Uh, what about it?" Couldn't you just make something up? See, look, she's still not smiling and it's all your fault. Not that I care, it's just that I don't want to suffocate in annoyance tonight, well before going out. I'd rather suffocate in booze. It be a more enjoyable death.

"Really, why Blue?" Are you serious, Doc? You read my mind. You know the answer. Do you really want me to say it out loud? Well, guess what, you smiling isn't worth my heart exploding. Sorry, Doc.

"It's an okay color." Just when I thought I couldn't get lamer.

"You said green was your favorite color." See, only listens to me when she can use it against me. Pure evil.

"Yeah, I guess. But blue is a much better name for an album." Just ask my flamboyantly homosexual producer. He nearly jumped me and crushed me when I told him the name. He said it sounded classy. Someone tell me how a color sounds classy. Some things will forever be lost on me.

"Green too happy?" Look, a smile. Of course there'd be a smile, she's making fun of me. I think it's one of her favorite past times. Yeah, well, it's about as much fun as poking my eyes out for me. As the anti-Christ this probably increases her pleasure.

"Blue can be happy." Just look at your eyes when you smile. Ugh, that's it. I'm going to pound my head in when I get home. And when I say pound I mean drink myself stupid. I have to drain my damaged liver of all drops of that wine. It's obviously still in my system.

"True." What? Agreeing with me? It's a miracle. "But that song last night was far from happy." That's because I wasn't happy because I'm the anti-Christ's new play toy, and she decided to drug me three days previous. That doesn't mean the whole album is sad. Play toy? That could be fun. What? I didn't necessarily say it would be sexual.

Whatever, I'm obviously still drugged. She should market it. Anything that stays in your system this long could sell for a lot. But then again, she doesn't need the money. You know, because of all the money she makes from the government and me paying her to sit there and make fun of me. "Doc, this is a boring session." Just want to make sure she knows. I'm practically asleep over here.

"You think ever session is boring." I only think the truth. "What are you doing this weekend?" Why does she bother with this question ever Friday? It's not like it changes.

"The usual." Like usual. Oh damn. "Except I have a press conference tomorrow." That I so didn't agree too, and that is so denying me my two and a half day binge I had planned. Stupid Charles.

"Oh, what time?"

"Noon." See, it's like right in the middle. It's going to give my body time to hang over a little between Friday night and Saturday. How annoying.

"That's too bad. I was going to ask you to take me somewhere." Damn her. I was trying to forget multiple doctor's appointments. Why can't she just let me forget it?

"Why are there multiple doctor's appointments, Doc?" And why am I asking? Whatever happened to ignorance is bliss? I live by this. What am I thinking? I could so make something up, like she goes because, well, I'd think of something brilliantly witty, but I'm listening intently for her answer.

"I use to be really sick." Really? Can you define really, Doc. Seriously, ambiguity only looks good on me.

"Used to be?" What? I'm not worried. I need to make sure that my health is insured. I mean, this voice is my money tree, can't harm it.

"Yeah." Yeah? What does yeah mean? Why is this like pulling teeth?

"With?" Must I hold your hand?

She's not looking at me anymore. She's looking at the carpet. She's looking at the carpet like she's about to set it on fire with her eyes. It would be a little less concerning if I didn't know she had the power. "My mom was a surgeon. She was always busy worrying about everyone else health to worry about her own. By the time she had time to worry about her own I was eighteen and the cancer had spread from her breast to her lungs and stomach. There wasn't much else they could do." Cancer? Cancer? What does her mom have to do with her anyways? You know what, I don't have to listen to this anymore. Really. I mean. I asked about her. She didn't want to answer. I think it's time to go. Yeah, I think it's been time to go for the last minute.

I stand before the doc can continue with her pointless story. A story I so don't need to hear. A story I so don't want to hear. "You know I just remembered I have a meeting I have to go to." A meeting with Jack Daniels. He's waiting for me.

"A meeting?" Don't look at me with your sad eyes, Doc. They can't paralyze me right now, because I think your story might paralyze me more. Fight or flight and I've always been better at flight. Wouldn't be the case if I was born a bear. See I told you, should have been born a bear. "We still have a half an hour." How does she do that without a clock?

"I really can't miss it." Not if I want to keep my sanity. It's been hanging by a thread lately. "Sorry, Doc. I'll see you Monday or something." Make toward the door fast. Faster, Davies.

So didn't get there fast enough, because the doc has my hand, and I can't feel my body now, and she's turning me around, but I think my stomach remained in the other direction, because it feels like it's still trying to catch up. She's staring into my eyes. Why are her eyes so inviting? Why can all I see and think about is how she just licked her lips. Her lips. Don't think about her lips, Davies, or you won't be able to touch another set all weekend. Why is she the only thing I can think about? Why isn't this, when we are like this, the only times? I'm going crazy. "Bye Ashley." She squeezes my hand, and she's retreating. See, it's her retreating, not me.

I need to get out of here. Keep moving. Out the door, one more door to go. Come on, you can do it, just push that door open. Damnit. Damnit. Her eyes so poison me. I swear to you. I'm at the receptionist desk; don't ask me why, I'm not really working on my own accord anymore. "Damnit." I pull a piece of stationary that is laying out and write down my personal cell number. The fossil is eyeing me wearily. Ugh, the last thing I need is a dinosaur judging me right now. "Give this to the doc. Tell her to call if she needs anything." What? I can't think of an excuse for this one, so just leave me alone about it.

"Okay, Ms. Davies." She takes the sheet from my outstretched hand.

"She's arlgiht, right?" Come on, just pacify me. I need to know so I can get drunk and find someone to take my mind off of this. I need to feel right again. I need to feel apathetic again. Just give me that you fossil.

"Last time I checked, Ms. Davies." Good, see. She's fine. The end of that story was probably going to be something like, yeah and then I got sick because I was upset. She was probably an emo kid for awhile. Some people see it as a sickness or something.

"Okay, yeah, well just give her that." Okay, you can move now, Davies. The door is that way.

The fossil is looking at me like I'm crazy. I'm not crazy. I'm not. Yes, I am telling myself that. No one else will tell me it right now. "I will."

"Okay, well, bye." Move. Just move. That's right my legs can work.

"Goodbye, Ms. Davies." And I'm out the final door. Finally. Everything's fine. Everything. I will not think about her piercing eyes or her calming smile. I will not carry my cell phone around like it's my source of oxygen. Everything's fine. I'm fine. Well, I'm fine as long as she's fine. And she has to be fine, she's my super hero. Super heroes are always fine.


	13. Late Night Rendezvous

**Late Night Rendezvous **

She's withering beneath me. Want to know why? Because I'm good even after my fifteenth shot. That's pure, unadulterated talent. See, I'm talented. If only Doc was here to see it. Wait, no, that would be so wrong. Doc wouldn't appreciate it anyways. She just doesn't know how to appreciate things. I know how to appreciate things, ask the blonde under me. Yeah, Doc wouldn't appreciate me. I kiss down her chest leaving a trail with my tongue as I go. She's arching. I know what she wants. I casually slide two fingers behind the band of her panties. What would sex with a mind reader be like? I bet she's amazing.

No, damnit, I meant all mind readers in general. She can be a plural pronoun. I mean, in German, she and them are the same. I'm just getting my German and English all messed up. It's the liquor. And look, see what happens, now that voice is in my head. Get out of my head, Doc, do not make me threaten to cut you. I will so cut your voice or something like that. Aw, not her voice, I like her voice, like spiced rum. Her voice reminds me of spiced rum. Okay, okay, I will so cut… I will so cut something that belongs to her. Give me a second to think of something.

Oh, Pretty Blonde must not be privy to the voice, because she is stealthy guiding my hands more southward. Uhm, excuse me, Pretty Blonde, but I have the voice of the oddly attractive anti-Christ in my head, and I'm not quite sure what it is the voice is saying, but it's making it rather difficult to perform. See, this would be a lot easier to convey if she could read minds, or if I wasn't so drunk that all I can do is laugh.

Pretty Blonde looks frustrated. Don't look at me. It's not my fault. It's not my fault that someone up there thought it would be funny to send me to go to a super powered brain ninja that planted her voice in my head. You know, and the voice doesn't even come out when it is needed. Like it would have been nice last night if it would have been like, 'Ashley do not touch the hot stove.' But no, it's here now going 'Ashley do not sleep with the pretty blonde in front of you.' How obnoxious. This implanted voice is just as annoying as she is.

Oh, right, Pretty Blonde, hey, when did she get on top of me? The impatience of woman sometimes, jeez. Oh look. A song is playing. The song is getting louder. I so didn't order a song. It's a catchy song though and familiar. "I think your phone is ringing." And that would be why it's familiar. When did I change my ring tone to Sexy Back? That's when you know you're really drunk. I never got why no one threw that guy in prison for misrepresentation after that song came out.

I reach over the blonde and grab my phone from the night stand. I don't think the pretty blonde plans on moving anytime soon. This so use to never be a problem. Not that it's a problem now. Just saying. "Ashley?" See, look, now her voice is even in my phone. How does she do it? She must be more powerful than originally thought.

Wait, or is it her. "Doc?" It so would be her. She knew I was going to surpass that voice she implanted in my head, you know, that one time I wasn't looking, or something, so she had to call to intervene. So tricky.

"Oh, good, you're up." Don't act surprised Doc, you knew I was. It's all a part of your evil plan. Evil plan to drive me insane. You know, so then I'll never have to stop seeing her. She'll secretly miss me.

I look at the clock on my nightstand. "Doc, it's two AM." And on a Saturday, of course I'm up. See? She so doesn't know me.

"I'm sorry it's so late." And this so backs up my previous claims that she lives a rather boring life. And you would think someone who runs the underworld would be more of a night owl. You would think.

Oh, right, Pretty Blonde. She's kissing up my neck. Hm, I think she wants my attention. "Hang up the phone, we're busy." Hang up on Super Powers? Is that safe? I don't think that's safe. She could laser me through the phone. What? It's a possibility.

"Oh, are you busy?" See, look what you did Pretty Blonde now she's going to get all self righteous and ask me your name, and I so do not know your name. You know what? I'll just have to fix this.

"Um, no. Give me a sec, Doc." Well, there are two things I can do here. I could ask her, her name, or I could ask her to leave. Both of them pretty much lead to the same thing, me sitting here talking to myself. Might as well pick the one where Doc's implanted voice doesn't pester me the most. What? It's a good excuse. "Sorry, Pretty Blonde, but you got to go." What happened to the days when alcohol made me smarter? Now I just feel dumb. Dumb, dumb, dumb.

She starts the reverse path in her kissing onslaught, down my neck towards my chest. Well then. "Oh come on. Don't be a tease." See, Doc, you are making me a tease. Tease just has un-nice connotations to it and all that stuff. Well, actually, it's far from the worse thing I've been called…tonight.

See, Pretty Blonde just doesn't get it. "You don't understand." I point to the phone that's still in my hand. I probably should have put that down. Eh, doesn't matter, she'll just read the whole conversation in my mind anyways. "She has super powers." Hey, don't look at me like you don't believe me. Especially when you are on top of me. People on top of me should always believe me. It's a new rule. To be on top of me, you have to believe me. I should get rules tattooed on my back. No, no, last time I go a tattoo when drunk I had to pay a ridiculous amount of money for pain to get it removed. I don't get why Charles insisted that a tattoo of a fork on my shoulder would ruin my image. Everyone loves forks. They bring all the food to the mouth, or something along those lines.

"I don't care if you have God on the phone." Actually, quite the opposite. I'd be more inclined to agree with you if you had said angel, however. Ugh, Davies, drunk is no excuse. What? Angel is less something or another than God. Much better. "I'm horny." Yeah, well, welcome to the club. Talk to me when you've had the voice of a hyena in your head totally ruining your groove for the last two weeks. Yeah, talk to me then.

And what is she doing talking like that when the doc might be able to hear her? That's disrespectful. I mean, you got to show respect to those among us who can teleport and laser people. "Sh, she'll hear you." And don't roll your eyes at me. Not only does it make me really dizzy, but that's copyrighted. That's another thing I'm getting tattooed on my back. Damnit. Everyone wants to break that. "I'm sure she has super hearing too. It would just fit. Right?" She doesn't look convinced. Psh, you just so don't know, Pretty Blonde, you so don't know.

"I don't care if the bitch hears me." Oh, I so hope she lasers you. You can't do that. Only I can do that. "You brought me here." And obviously it was a little bit of a mistake. The blonde moves off of me and sits at the edge of my bed.

"You drove." I have no idea where Freddy and Charles are, they kind of looked like South Park characters after the tenth shot, and often, after the twelfth shot, I can no longer see anything with a penis. "And don't call her a bitch. Only I can call her a bitch, and that's usually just in my head." Because then I'd have to cut myself for making her frown and that sounds rather unpleasant.

"It's you house." Pretty Blonde is standing. Was it something I said? "And you know what? Fine. I don't need this." She begins the scavenger hunt for her clothes. That's so the worse part. You know, the part where you're at least half naked in front of a stranger looking for your clothes. Kind of awkward.

"I'm used to those words." I'm laughing. I can't help it. It's just too familiar. "I use them alllll the time." She's securing her shirt over her head. She begins to laugh with me. Maybe she's used to those words as well. Maybe I'm not the only one that's been in my position. Maybe. It makes me smile.

"You've had way too much to drink." Yeah, she's telling me. Look, she's fully dressed. She obviously didn't have as much as me. No one ever has as much as me. She's slipping something in my hand. It's smooth, and flat."My card. Call me some other time, I guess." Card? I wonder if I have cards. I should ask Charles. He would know.

"Bye, Pretty Blonde." She laughs at me, used to it, and walks out the door, not so used to it. She wasn't so bad. Hm, oh right, the doc. "Doc?"

"I really didn't mean to interrupt." Mhm, then explain your voice in my head if you didn't mean to interrupt. You're just so crafty, Doc. No wonder you work for the government.

I laugh. See, look, I can laugh at her too. Yeah, how do you like it now, Doc. "You already did before you called." Like she really needed me to tell her that. "You're pretty sneaky Doc." Oh and she is. "Like a fox." Foxes and hyenas are related aren't they?

"Have you been drinking?" Uhm, if it's a day between Thursday and Monday then you have a ninety-nine percent chance of being correct in that assumption. Thirsty Thursdays only gets an eighty percent chance now that I have the doc on Fridays and Charles keeps scheduling things that day. Really, it's kind of disconcerting. The only day of the week that thirsty sounds good in front of and it's been lowered to an eighty percent day.

"Not for the last forty minutes." I think it's an accomplishment. "That's like almost an hour." That and I'm out of booze. No booze anywhere. It's more disconcerting than my lacking Thirsty Thursdays.

I hear the doc sigh. Well, someone isn't smiles. Geez, Doc, can't you even let me live in bliss? When you don't sigh like that I can pretend like you're always smiling, therefore, my air stays breathable, and everyone is happy. "I've been driving around for awhile." And she's still living? I guess the real question is how many small little animals as she killed.

"You're driving scares me." Like it would any other sane person. Because that's what I am. Sane.

She's laughing. Good. That means she's smiling and I can learn how to breathe again. It also makes it a lot easier to roll my eyes at her, well; it would if I had the ability to roll my eyes right now. "Yeah, I get that a lot." I bet she does.

"You scare me, Doc." Well, she does. A lot more than her driving ever could. And that's saying a lot. Trust me.

Doc isn't laughing anymore. Well, as long as she's not sighing. "You know, I get that significantly less." That surprises me. I personally think the doc can be terrifying.

Awkward silence. Usually this is so her job to break this. Actually, there usually isn't awkward silence. Just silence. Same thing, almost. But anyways. She's the one with ADD. ADD means that you're better at coming up with conversation. It's like its one saving grace. Use it Doc, use it. Seriously? Not even going to randomly start asking me questions about my favorite lollipop flavor? Fine. Psh, of course not. "I know what you're thinking, Doc, and I so knew her name." Or I will when I get the ability to read back. Thank the higher being for business cards. Oh, and my favorite lollipop flavor is cherry. Thanks for not asking, Doc.

"Can I come over?" Wait, what? Must pinch self. No, you are still conscious, Davies, this is not a dream.

"Here?" This place is a mess. I haven't cleaned it since, well, ever, and I fired the maid last week. I don't really remember why. Something about giving me lip, I think. Ask Captain Morgan. He could tell you better than me.

"Well, I am on your street." My street? The street outside my house? That street? The street I walk on almost every day? "So, I was just wondering." The street with nothing else on it except two other mansions? The street that nobody would have any reason to drive down unless they're a star tour? Man I hate those tours.

"Here?" Does it smell okay in here? I mean, I hear tell that sometimes, certain people, do not like the smell of booze and sex. Yeah, those crazy people. Damnit, Cherry use to do this thing with air fresheners. It's so time to hire a new maid. You think one could get here, like now?

"Ashley, I understand if you don't want me there." Yeah, you would understand. That's just what you do; understand. I'll tell you though Doc, it's annoying. It's annoying when you go from apathy to understanding. Your mind can't deal. Way to give me mental whiplash. It hurts.

"You really want to come here?" I still haven't contacted the church about exorcising your house, so be gentle with mine, Doc. If I could move, I'd at least pick up the clothes. Is there such a thing as maid remorse?

"Ashley – "Way to sound defeated.

"I miss you, Doc." She had to pull it out of me, didn't she? Why do I bother asking?

A silence. Not like the one before. "I'm pulling up now." Of course she is. She's always pulling up.

And I think I'm going to be sick. "Doc, I'm so drunk." And it's definitely not on life.

"What's the code to your gate?" I never really understood the whole gate thing, but it came with the house, and it makes it look so much more impressive. Seriously. Who doesn't want their own gate tower? Think about it.

"6-0-6-2-5." It came with the gate. I'm too lazy to change it, so I made a catchy jingle in my head to remember it by. Why is she bothering with all this, anyways? "You know, Doc, I know you can teleport." The secret is so out of the bag.

She chuckles softly as I hear her punching in the numbers. When you punch in the numbers they make a shrill beep noise. Trust me; it's not the greatest at three in the morning coming home with a hangover pounding all ready. "And I bet that's pretty annoying."At least she's finally getting it.

"Exactly. It's all so annoying." All of it. I can hear her car zooming down the driveway. She needs a new car if I can hear it from here, or her license revoked, whichever. "Have you ever hit a squirrel, Doc?" This is a bloody scenario. Just another causality to a rogue super genius who needed to go too fast.

"Nope."

"Really?" Another clover ploy. "I can see you hitting a poor squirrel. It would never have a chance against your lead foot." It really wouldn't. A cheetah wouldn't have a chance against her lead foot.

"What's the code to the front door?" I guess she can't see it. So pushy.

"3-6-6-7"

I hear her punching it in. She laughs. I should have anticipated this. Everyone laughs at it, and she's extra careful to laugh at anything she can when it involves me. "Door?"

"I'll never forget it that way." And isn't that the point? "I think I'm clever." Along with a lot of other things. Who needs this? "You wouldn't happen to have any Bacardi on you, would you?" I'm in a Superior mood, oh the wit of me.

"Don't you think you've had enough?" And look who's talking. I do recall someone unable to walk, passed out in my limo. Yeah, that would be her.

"Doc, around you, it's never enough." What does that mean, Davies? Well, I'll tell you when my drunken mind gets in touch with my inner monologue.

"Is that a good or a bad thing?" The doc seems uncertain. At this point, Doc, you could probably tell me better than I could. I've lost myself.

"You know, I'm not sure." I am sure that I don't have a shirt on, and that all shirts are so out of my reach. This is a horrible predicament.

She's laughing at me again. If I really want to build up my lacking karma I should just donate a dollar to some starving kid every time she laughs at me. I'd have karma coming out of, well, you get the picture. "I guess I'll take what I can get." And why didn't that seem as amused as your laugh, Doc? Can't you just stay happy so I can stay peaceful?

"You deserve more than you get." She needs to hear it. It's not my fault no one else is telling her. I guess the burden lands on me.

"Do I?" Her voice is quieter than I think I've ever heard it. It's obvious no one is telling her this. What good is Madison as a best friend if she can't even get the obvious right?

"Aiden is a rock." Okay, common knowledge. Stop being a broken record, Davies. "Where is he now?" Thankfully not anywhere near me, but still. "Chicago." Making the doc frown from half way across the country no doubt. How couldn't he miss your eyes enough to stay? "Who could be in Chicago when the ocean's here?"

"You like the ocean?" Still quiet, still making my skin rise, tickling my senses. She gets sadistic pleasure off of this.

"I love the ocean." What? I do.

"You think you could put your shirt on?" I look up and there she is standing in my door frame. Hey, wait, how did she find the room? There are a lot of rooms here. I still get lost. See, more proof. I watch as she closes the phone and turns away from me.

Right, right, shirt. "I uh… yeah." It's not like she didn't already see this the other day. Hey, wait, shirt was off, that means Doc shouldn't have been able to read my mind. I guess that theory has been scratched. I wonder if it works with pants. I'll figure it out another day. I grab an old band t-shirt of my dad's and throw it on. Really, it's the only thing I could easily reach. "I'm decent, Doc." Stop acting like you're a preteen, you have them too, trust me, I know.

She turns and faces me but doesn't move. "It's kind of late, huh?" Probably should have thought of that before you called me at two in the morning, time only goes forward, unfortunately, Doc.

I smile; I smile because I want her to move; I smile because I want her to smile. "Depends on your definition of early."You know, somewhere in the world it's like afternoon or something. That's the great thing about time. It's ambiguous even when it seems to be the most plain.

"I just couldn't sleep." There she's moving towards me. Not that I want her towards me, per say, I just didn't want her looking all awkward in my doorframe. When I think of her in my doorframe, she looks anything but awkward. "Madison and Glen are at Glen's and my dad took Ian and Aiden is in Chicago." Why does she always make it easy for me to blame the rock and the banshee for everything wrong in life? I really think she encourages it. "And I just didn't want to be alone." She sits on the edge of my bed, the place the pretty blonde was at thirty minutes previous. I can't squelch the feeling that I traded up in the pretty blonde department. "I knew you'd be here."

She's near tears, and I don't know why. I don't know who to threaten. Ugh, Shanks only work if you know who to use them on, Doc. I put my hand on her shoulder. "Doc, what's wrong?"

She turns towards me and engulfs me in her arms. It takes all my balance to keep us upright, but I did it. Now, why did I do it again? "How about I promise not to tell you anything you don't want to know right now, and you promise to just be here tonight." She whispers into my ear, intentional or not, not lessening her hold on my body.

I'm not sure what I am doing, but I know it can't be breathing, because I know my lungs belong to her now, and I know my blood isn't beating because my veins are clearing out for something purer, and this is all too painful. "I'd be here anyways." It's probably a lie, but I want to believe it right now. And I really can't face my cowardness right now. Not half drunk and half more awake than I'll ever be.

"Ashley –" But she always knows my lies, because I'm her book that she reads for fun and pleasure, but never returns the favor, because I'm so lost right now as she releases me and looks into my eyes, so deep into my eyes that I think I'm blind, blessed forever to only see blue, ever changing hues of blue. Like the ocean.

"Yeah, sorry, fine, that's fine." It's fine. Because I know she knows what I want to know and don't want to know. She's probably more privy to my thoughts than I am.

"Do you mind if we just sleep?" Sleep? Wait? Sleep, here? Okay, I'll work you through this, Davies, inhale, exhale. Okay, good. She must read the terrified expression in my eyes because her hand is running down my arm. Is that supposed to make it better, Doc? Because it's so not helping. "You do sleep, don't you?" I'd still be a badass if I asphyxiated right now, right? I could blame it on the alcohol.

"Yeah, yeah, every night." Lame. When did you turn so lame?

"I don't bite." That's too bad. Damnit. Don't make sarcastic comments when you're still trying to breathe.

"I know, I just. What would Creepy think?" That it was hot. Right, I forgot her fiancé didn't have a brain.

"Why do you think Aiden's strange?" She seems rather uninterested as she lays down on my favorite pillow. Aw, come on, Doc, that's the one that stays coolest the longest.

"No, not strange, creepy. Creepy you walk away from. Strange you stop and stare." And who wants to stare at Aiden? And she sighs as she finds a comfortable place on the pillow. Okay, I guess she can have it. But just this one time. I'm feeling generous tonight. "It's going to be okay, Doc." I just have a feeling she needs to hear it.

She nods, but her eyes are closed now. How is it fair that this sight is wasted every night? I wish I could paint a little. Okay, too many old movies, Davies. I'm cutting you off. I lay down on the opposite side of the bed, on the inferior pillow. "Hey, Ash –"

"It's fine, Doc." Because I know exactly what she's going to ask, because she's braver than me. I guess it comes with the super powers. And I can smell her and feel her, even before we are touching, even before we are close. And she's snuggled into me, and I don't know what to do because I've never really been in this position before. I've never had someone in my arms I was terrified of breaking, or that I knew could break me. But as she sighs and digs her head into the crook of my neck I couldn't care one way or another.


	14. Things That Never Occur

**Things That Never Occur**

What am I doing? I tell you what I am doing. I am standing on the doorstep of hell. Yes, hell. That is where the anti-Christ lives isn't it? How long have I been out here? Well, I mean, is time really all that important anyways? There really is nothing wrong about standing on someone's doorstep for fifteen minutes to an, let's say hour, you know, just to be safe, right?

You know what's behind that door? The Evil One. Yeah, the Evil One. Want to know why she's the Evil One? She took my lungs away from me, and I haven't seen her since Saturday night, and therefore, I haven't breathed since Saturday night. It's becoming excruciating. Excruciating painful. But, I can't just go in there and breathe because I'm mad at her. So, unbelievably mad at her. Who gives someone the ocean and just leaves? Just takes it away and leaves?

Yeah. There was a note, and some water, and some aspirin, but if I wanted a note and water and aspirin I would have stayed with the pretty blonde. The pretty blondes always leave those things. The doc isn't supposed to be a pretty blonde. She's really not supposed to be anything. Why couldn't she just stay an evil, super powered, genius, villain that laughs at me like a hyena? Why? And why are her nicknames so elaborate? See, she can't even keep it simple in my own inner musing. I'm making a limit, maximum two nicknames per person.

What happened to Monday you maybe asking; well I am still asking myself. Monday just never came. Well, it did, but my Monday never came. Mind reading eyes and music laughs and life sustaining smiles never came. I still don't know why. Charles said the office was closed. See, only the Evil One could cancel an entire day.

You know what? I'm doing fine without her. It's been five days. Five days and I'm still living. There is absolutely nothing wrong with someone who can't look at the sky or drink Dr. Pepper without cursing an unseen African animal. Right? Right. I wouldn't even be here if she hadn't taken control of my vital organs. I really don't even want to be within a mile of her; they just tricked me.

And who doesn't call? I mean, she's my shrink, I could have been unstable. Isn't it her job to make sure I'm alright? See, she can't even get that right. Really, you'd think as a mind reader she'd be better at her job. You'd think she'd know I've needed her since Sunday morning. And if she knows then really she is evil, thus the Evil One.

Whatever. Ashley Davies needs no one. Ashley Davies also is awesome, and I am so not awesome right now. Awesome doesn't pace on porches in the middle of prime serial killer country muttering under its breath. Awesome is not sober, so unbelievably sober it hurts. I figure it might as well hurt along with everything else. Awesome would have never came here. Awesome would have said good riddance when it woke up. Awesome wouldn't have cried. When did Awesome forsake me?

That's it. I am going to go find my awesome. I need it. I'd prefer Awesome to have my heart than sadistic anti-Christs any day. Just walk away, Davies. I guess it would be a lot easier if the front door wasn't opening. Could this day get any worse? Seriously? I must have been a murdering, pillaging, prostitute in my past life. Psh, even then I'd probably be more awesome than I am right now.

"Why you standing out here?" It's the friend, the friend I can stand, Chelsea, that's right. Obviously I'm standing out here because I love to be the noticeable prey of some psycho with an axe, or something along those lines. You know, life long dream.

I lean against the side of the house trying to hold onto some sense of my dignity. I had a lot of dignity a month ago so the fact that I feel like it's all been drained is quite a feat. The doc has more power than I originally thought. Which is probably an even more amazing feat. I'll keep this in mind for all future plans and endeavors. "I don't know if I am going in." I don't know if I can go in.

She walks closer to me. "Why not?"

Because Spencer makes my organs rebel against me and I want them back. "I'm just not feeling the holiday spirit."

She leans against the wall next to me. She smells a little like the doc. Not that I have it memorized. Not that I care. Not that I am breathing in her scent because of it. "That's too bad. It smells delicious in there."

Yeah, you're telling me. Are you out here to finish me off? They always kick you when you are down. She must be a minion. A lesser minion, because evil doesn't radiate off her like it does Madison, but still a minion. Or maybe the evil just radiates off this house? I'm not sure. "Yeah, not all that hungry." Haven't been hungry for five days.

"Why are you here then?" Been asking myself that for awhile now. I'm slowly becoming a masochist to the highest order? At least I haven't gone all whips and chains on myself. Actually, sounds a little more appealing than this situation.

"I needed a walk." I need to walk away from here.

"So you came here?" Yeah, good point. If one was going to walk there are a lot more interesting places than this suburban death trap.

I look down to my feet. Normal sneakers. Unawesome and boring. That's what I've become. Did I mention lame? "I guess they invited me to this thing."

"You guess?" Must you push? The world really does have it out for me today.

"Yeah. Well, Aiden invited me." That's right, the doc didn't even invite me. No, her rock of a fiancé did, as he touched her knee and stroked her and there was kissing involved. I'm not even here because she wanted me to be. 

"Not the Dennison that you wanted to invite you?" Here's a knife, Lesser Minion, please stab it a little deeper into my chest. I really just can't feel it yet.

"Doc isn't a Dennison." And if life was fair she never would be one. Think about it, it's probably illegal for rocks to marry anyways. Someone should warn her before she spends too much money on all this. Not to mention, rocks have the emotional range of, well, rocks. 

"Not yet, but they're getting married on New Year's Eve." Yeah, and then twist that knife. Twist and pull. Thanks. I really needed that.

"How cliché." Well, it is. Just saying.

"Aiden gets that way sometimes." I know a lot of ways Aiden gets, but none of them do I want to associate with the Doc.

"Flamboyantly homosexual?" Come on, like someone is going to try to tell me that Nicholas Sparks is straight?

"No, that he wants to make Spencer happy." Got any more knifes? I really don't think you got the dead center of the heart yet. You should really try harder. Anyways, could have fooled me. If he makes her happy, why's she always frowning? Huh?

"She is happy, isn't she?" I really don't know what the 'good' answer to that question is. Either way, it's all just so wrong. I'm just so wrong.

"Most of the time." See, he isn't doing his job right. It should be all the time. He should put all his efforts in the ocean and less on Lake Michigan. I've seen that lake, it's not all that great.

"I just really shouldn't be here." I push off the wall. I need to get out of here.

Ugh, I am going to super glue that door shut. I'd duct tape it, but this one time I super glued my fingers together, much more effective than the one time I couldn't get the duct tape off my hands. Much more painful as well. "Chelsea you find it?" It's the sister. I completely forgot she was going to be here.

"No, haven't even made it to the car yet." I was too busy stabbing your sister because she just hasn't graduated to the right masochist level. She can't do it well enough herself. Believe me, Lesser Minion, I was doing just fine before you got here. You can go report back to your master now, or whatever. "Your sister has been keeping me company." Did you really have to do that? Haven't you already done enough?

Kyla walks closer to us, and then takes off in a sprint towards me, engulfing me in a hug. Hug or secret, not-so-subtle, ninja move to slowly cut off oxygen to the brain. I'm not quite sure yet. No really, I always thought Kyla had the build to be a ninja. "Ashley!" Just a really loud ninja. I guess that kind of defeats the purpose.

"Uh, hey Kyla." Really, it's all I can make out through gasps. Seriously, great ninja. Well, with this strength, maybe sumo wrestler.

"I can't believe you're here!" Yeah, join the club. Trust me; it's bigger than you think. For example, Charles laughed and then asked if I was drunk before I left. Freddy asked me if I got my addresses mixed up. I can choose turkey over booze if I want to. Turkey has some sort of drug in it anyways, right? Or is that just what Kyla tells me to get me to her house on Christmas? "Spencer told me you might come, but I didn't believe it!" Me either.

"Yeah. Kyla, I can't breathe." She finally releases me. So would have died if my lungs still belonged to me. I'm not even that lucky.

She smiles sheepishly at me. "Oh, right. I'm just so happy to see you." I guess the feeling is kind of mutual. It's nice to have someone who shares DNA with you around sometimes. "It's too bad the kids are at Jake's parents." No, it's a good thing. I'm not sure I'd be able to remember their ages, let alone their names.

"Oh, why are you here then?" Isn't this holiday thing a family thing? Or at least that's what she always tells me to also get me to her house on Christmas.

"Jake's mom hates me." Well, I hate Jake, so you two are even. And how can she hate anyone? Look what she brought into the world. The world should hate her a little, for lowering its average IQ so substantially. "And I am one of Spence's bridesmaids I have to get the dress sometime." Bridesmaid? Dress? There's already dresses?

"Right." How can someone who I share DNA with support this unholy union between Creepy and Annoying? 

"Here it is." Chelsea emerges from the back of her car holding a thing of peppermint schnapps. When did she go over there? My vision may blur at times, but I have perfect vision for my alcohol bottles. It's a gift. She walks back towards us haphazardly swinging the bottle. Ugh, don't these people know how to handle precious cargo? They'd be terrible pirates. "Weren't you coming in, Ashley?" And we so already covered this

"Yeah, there's peppermint alcohol, I know how you love peppermint and alcohol." These are true attributes of mine. A plethora of peppermint is the number one thing the holidays are good for. The second being eggnog, and the third being apple cider.

Chelsea looks at me. What? Out of knives? "Aiden's not here yet. His flight was delayed because of snow in Chicago."

"Oh." Have I really become that transparent?

"Come on. I made the sweet potatoes you like." I do love sweet potatoes and delightfully flavored alcohol. And I have been sober for sixty-two hours. What? I needed a sound mind. I couldn't run the risk of calling her and saying something ridiculous, like I missed her, or something. This must be what those people on the street corner mean when they preach about temptation.

Kyla is opening the door to hell. You know, I still haven't gotten it exorcised. It just wouldn't be good for my soul to go in there. God knows I do enough soul harming activities. Chelsea is walking towards me. Maybe she wants to break out the physical knives. You know, out of metaphysical ones, the good ones, you got to settle on the physical. "You can always leave whenever you need to," she says quiet enough that Kyla can't hear from where she's standing in the doorway looking at us expectantly.

I nod at Chelsea in understanding. Yeah, that transparent. The awesome really is gone. I guess I'll search for it tomorrow because I'm not going to be finding it inside that house. "Yeah, coming, Kyla." I follow Kyla inside as Chelsea follows behind me and closes the door. Yeah, okay, it might smell delicious in here. At least turkey covers the smell of banshee in its natural habitat. You know what? I'm not going to take off my shoes. That's right. That'll show her, terrorizing me like she does. I'll terrorize her floors. Kyla walks into the living room and Chelsea heads into the kitchen. Kitchen means work. Being here is enough work. Living room it is. 

I can hear the hellish noise of football before we even enter the room. Men tackling men over a ball in tight pants, I really don't think it gets more homosexual than that. I always found it funny that it's supposed to be a 'heterosexual' male activity. They wish. Glen is sleeping on the far couch. Kyla sits herself down on the opposite end. Big couch. An older guy, holding Blue Eyes, and CJ lounge on the other couch. "Grandpa, that's Ashley." Grandpa? I think it's a safe bet to guess that that's the patriarch of the clan of super powered villains. Impressive. "She has a crush on me." Don't I wish, kid. "She's famous." Can you tell that to your aunt? She doesn't seem to get it.

He gets up and hugs me. I must look huggable today. I just don't feel it. Maybe it's the new perfume. "Hey, kid." Kid is better than little man and kiddo, just saying.

"I've heard so much about you. Ashley." Which, in this house, is probably a terrible thing. I should have brought Charles. He always sells me well. Not that I care what an evil patriarch thinks, but it's always nice to know that at least someone around knows how amazing you are. Because right now, that sure isn't me.

"Mr. Carlin." I lend him my hand but he sets Blue Eyes on the couch carefully and stands, hugging me. Remind me never to wear this perfume again. Obviously, Spencer hasn't informed them that I do not do platonic touching. Another thing to get tattooed to the back. Now that I think about it, how are people going to read all this writing? Backless shirts aren't in right now. Damnit. Fashion always foils my plans.

"Sit, sit." He sits back down, scooping Blue Eyes back into his lap. I sit down between him and CJ. Once again, a Carlin sandwich. I guess I can manage this one. "My son." He points to a drooling Glen. Words can't describe how joyous I am that that's what Madison gets to wake up to. "Loves football, but I don't think he's ever stayed awake to see a whole game." So this is where the doc gets her relaxing smiles? Must be a clan trick. Use it on all their victims and stuff.

"But I stay awake Grandpa!" That kid really is always bouncy. Way too much Kool-Aid. Better watch out, Kool-Aid is such a gateway drink.

"That you do." He reaches behind me and ruffles at CJ's hair. "So, my daughter is really fond of you." Of me? She has a funny way of showing it. Why do they all have to have the same eyes? Why? More proof that the world doesn't play fair. "You must be a special girl."

Girl? I haven't been called a girl for awhile. I haven't been a girl for awhile. "Of course she is. She's my sister." Isn't this just a love fest.

"Aunt Kyla is your sister?" When did Kyla become this kid's aunt? I didn't know that super evil clans took inductees. It just seems like it would be a blood only thing, or a pretty close to blood, only thing. Like the mob, or something.

"Yeah, but I'm the prettier one." Kyla flashes the poor kid her cheesiest smile. Psh, DNA sharer perhaps, sister, it's questionable.

"Well, I'd say you two are equally as pretty." How diplomatic of you. This is why you are the patriarch.

"I think Ashley is prettiest." I knew I liked that kid. I'll buy him an overabundance of Kool-Aid for Christmas. I mean, he's already hooked, might as well get him a good supplier. A millionaire is the best supplier I can think of. "She has a crush on me." Psh, now I do. Just don't tell the tabloids they'd take it the wrong way.

Kyla giggles from her couch. "I guess I'll let it slide then." I wonder how many times Kyla has been on that couch. She seems like she fits so naturally there. I don't feel natural at all here. "How's work, Mr. C?"

"Great, especially with Spencer working there now. I have so much more free time." Ah, so he's the head honcho. He's the one with the awful decorating talent. Is it being the holidays an excuse not to berate your shrink's boss on his horrible taste in all things design? "I only work weekends." Ew, why would anyone want to work on the weekends? The whole family doesn't know the definition of fun. It must be genetic.

"I'm surprised Spencer lets you work that. Be careful or she'll take it completely over." They both laugh at this. When did Kyla become an expert on the doc? When did any of this happen?

"Dinner!" screams the voice that haunts my nightmares, not my 'nightmares', my real nightmares, Madison's. I guess I can wonder at another time. It's going to start hurting my head, anyways.

I can do this. I can so do this. I've sang for the queen of England. This is nothing. Right? Right. "Good, it's about time. I'm starving." Glen jumps off the couch. Proof that Madison's voice does in fact wake the dead. I hope he at least wiped the slobber off his face when he got up.

"Aw, why don't we ever have dinner at half time?" CJ mopes as he shuts off the TV. Aw, he looks like me when I have to choose between the shot that tastes like chocolate cake or the one that tastes like oatmeal cookies. He scrambles to follow Glen into the kitchen. Food must trump football somewhere in that head of his. Kind of like chocolate cake shots trump oatmeal cookie shots.

Evil Patriarch stands carrying Blue Eyes. "Because the womenfolk don't understand the greatness of football," he calls after the kid. Why would we want to?

"Womenfolk, Mr. C?" Yeah, seriously, who says that? "Better be careful the women overpower the men here, two to one." You tell him, DNA sharer.

He grins as he heads to the kitchen. "I'll keep my wits about me, but I doubt anyone would hurt me when I got this little one with me." He's right about that much.

"You can't eat with him on your lap." Kyla follows after him.

"Oh, we'll see about that." Against my better judgment, I follow after them. The table is larger than the last time I saw it, which of course makes it even the more cramped in here. Super. Just what I need, some together time with a clan of evilness, one DNA sharer, and Blue Eyes. At least the table is full of deliciousness. I've never seen so much food. So much food that looks edible, that is. Due to the fact that my cook only makes enough for me.

"Wine?" It's the doc, and her head is tilt, questioning me. And she's standing right here. Standing right here with her hair up giving me all too clear a view of her mind reading eyes and life stopping smile, and my heart is being stabbed again, but this time not by metaphysical knives but by blue rays. "I got your favorite, and I did promise you one bottle." Can I have the knives back? Please.

"No, thanks." What? You remember what happened last time I drank wine here. I was drugged. I'm still pretty sure I'm still drugged. I need to play this safe. Plus, I don't need her peace offerings of delicious wine. Wine does not bring forgiveness, Doc.

She sets the bottle on the counter behind her. "You're sober, aren't you?" Don't look so surprised, Doc. I can run without booze. At my last checkup I was human and everything.

"It has happened before, Doc." I'm pretty sure I was born sober. Well, knowing my mom, it is questionable.

She laughs. It's the most calming thing I've heard in five days. Maybe coming here wasn't so bad. Maybe I can do this. I can do it as long as she smiles at me. As long as she lets me bottle her laughter later and take it home with me. I swear I'm still mad at her. But I can't be mad at her laugh, especially when it's laughing with me not at me. "Since you were sixteen?" I can tell she's joking by the head tilt and slight nose wrinkle and I think I've lost feeling in my toes.

"Well, I try to forget those times. You know, nothing interesting happens." I swear there were times. I swear. When you're hung over it counts as being sober, right?

"Well, I'll try to make your sober experience a pleasurable one." Is she hitting on me? Shut up, Davies, all you heard was pleasurable. You have no idea what else was said, at all.

"Yeah, Doc?" Could you sound anymore intelligent? Yeah, maybe if I made monkey noises and danced around the room. Why monkey noises? I have no idea.

She giggles. There we go, feeling in my ankles are gone as well. It's slowly creeping up my legs. "You dork." Dork? I am not a dork. I'm really not, I swear. I know the evidence says different, but, ugh, whatever. "How was the football game?"

I roll my eyes playfully. What? I can be playful. "Like I'd waste my attention span on that garbage."

She laughs, there goes my shins. "Yeah, I just don't get their," she points to her father and brother across the room, "fascination."

"I don't mean to interrupt." With words. You'd rather guns but no sane dealer in the state would sell guns to a banshee. Too bad for you. "But we all want to eat." I look around, everyone else is seated. Looks like Blue Eyes gets his own chair and everything. Grandpa must have lost.

The doc chuckles and shakes her head. "Sorry, Mads." Psh, don't look at me. You sure aren't getting an apology from me. It's not like you need to eat anyways.

"Come on, Ash." The Doc grabs my hand and leads me to the table. Damn her and her skin burning techniques. Breathe, Davies, breathe.

Madison is staring daggers at me, just like I like my Madison stares. I stick my tongue out slightly, just for good measure. Yeah, who's got the doc's hand now? "Yeah, yeah, coming, Doc." I'm so glad looks can't kill.

"Ashley, this is my step mom, Grace." A dark haired woman shakes my hand. "And you know everyone else." She releases my hand, I swear I'm not going to asphyxiate, and sits where she sat last time, between an empty chair and Blue Eyes. I sit in the chair that is seemingly for me, between Blue Eyes and Kyla, but at least this time I am facing Chelsea. A much better view, if I do say so myself. Which I know I won't. Nine in ten sane people agree.

"Let's dig in!" Glen must be the articulate one in the family.

I watch as Madison piles what I would definitely call a plethora of dark meat on her plate. At least my favorite pastime is here. "I see you're still pregnant Madison." Egging the banshee on.

"And I see that you are still a bitch." She spoons some stuffing onto her plate. Now, I just would have expected better from her. That wasn't fun at all. I'm called a bitch daily.

Chelsea coughs. She must notice how lame that was too. "Spencer, this smells," she takes a bite of stuffing, "and tastes delicious." Yeah, it does smell delicious. I guess she can cook too. No, seriously, is there anything she can't do? That's so annoying.

"Thanks a lot, Chels." I can't see the doc's face from here, well, without looking horribly obvious. How can someone make a table a torture device? They're good. So very good.

"So, Ashley, you're that singer, right?" The step mom asks me in-between bites. She looks fascinated. I knew I liked her.

I give her my award winning smile. "Yeah, I am." Hey, I need the ego shot right now. Leave me alone.

"Oh, I just love your music." She does? I guess to each their own. Who knew I had a senior citizen fan base. "I will have to get your autograph after dinner."

"Grace, really, a child could sign her signature." Okay, that's true, but it doesn't mean that the banshee can say it.

"I don't see anyone asking for your signature." See look, I'm a bitch when sober too, I'll have to tell Charles next time he tells me it's the alcohol.

"Can I get your signature too?" Did I mention I loved that kid? A truck of Kool-Aid, and maybe even some of those fun dips, you know the pure sugar, messy candy of children's fantasies. "People in my class don't believe me that you have a crush on me." I just really hope your teacher doesn't work for a rag, kid.

"So, Madison, how are the twins?" Ah, the patriarch tries to keep peace. I think I saw that on the Discovery Channel once too.

"They're kicking up a storm." I would be too if I was inside that.

"We are just really looking forward to them, Dad." I bet she is a lot more than you are. When they're in there she can't make you do anything for them, but when they're out here believe me, basketball star, you're going to wish they were back in there.

"Ashley, aren't you hungry?" It's the doc. She should know; she's the one that stole my appetite.

"Oh, no. I'm just not that hungry." Which is a feat because there are sweet potatoes on this table. Sweet potatoes that I have threaten to kill people for in the past.

And then I hear the door opening. Being sober does crazy things to your senses, like makes them work. I should have taken the pinot noir when it was offered. I need to work on that stubbornness thing, because I know who it is, the only empty chair in this room. And I need a drink. A large, large, stiff drink. I really don't think I can do this.

And then he walks into the kitchen. Couldn't you be the overly friendly postman that just wanted to wish them a happy Thanksgiving? Why am I only right when I want to be wrong? Why is that the most morbidly ironic thing I can think of right now? He sits in the chair that was probably made for him, and I really don't think I've ever hated him more. That includes that time that I caught him with Madison before he told me about the two of them.

"Babe." And he kisses her, and I'm glad I haven't eaten because it wouldn't still be in my stomach. Mostly because my stomach is in my legs and it's doubtful that full it could fit there. She does need to breathe, you know. Boys don't know how to kiss anyways. They don't know how to be delicate or slow. No it's too hard, or too much tongue, or just too much in general. Really, I just worry about her health. "I've missed you." Or my health. I haven't decided yet.

She smiles at him, a smile that shouldn't be for him. Not for someone who chooses snow and lakes over the ocean. "I've missed you too." She shouldn't have to miss you. She shouldn't have to climb into my bed and steal my organs and my air. She shouldn't be telling you she misses you.

Another kiss. Another blow. "A week is far too long to be away." She shouldn't be missing a week, she should miss five days. "Ash, I'm so glad you're here." And he notices me.

"Hi, Aiden." Which translates to, 'why weren't you hit on the head and doomed with amnesia, for at least today.' I don't think he caught it though, because he smiles at me.

"Hey everyone." He does a slight wave across the table. Wow, what a gentleman. What a keeper.

"How was Chicago, bro?" Bro? What the hell is that? I am so glad I don't speak rock or brick. I feel like my IQ just dropped.

"Great." Great? See, he's so wrong. Three thousand miles away from the ocean can never be great. It can't even be fine. "Got a little cold at the end there though." Serves you right. "But I missed it here, of course." He laces his oversized fingers with Spencer's. She is eating, you rock, that's just rude.

"Well, you better have, son." Son? He so isn't your son, sir. Why doesn't anyone get that they aren't married? She still has time to come to her senses and realize she wants someone with a human brain. "Or we'd have to have a talk." A talk? Can't you just break his legs?

The rock chuckles. Yeah, chuckle you yokel. Go right ahead. Ugh, are they really kissing again? I didn't order soft core porn, and if I did order it, and this is what I got, I'd demand my ten dollars back. You know, the price of porn is kind of ridiculous. "Don't worry, Dad, you never have to worry about that." Dad? Don't you have your own dad?

"Aren't they the cutest couple?" What's her name, the step mom, comments from across the table. If cute is the new word for 'makes me want to vomit' then yes, I agree with you, overly joyous, dark haired woman. And I thought I liked you.

And for once me and Madison are cursing the same person with our eyes. How ironic. "Aw, yeah they are." Did I mention DNA sharer not sister? It's not like we share all DNA anyways, just half. It almost doesn't count.

"No one asked you, Ky." Thank you, Madison. Hey, who said you could call my sister Ky? I don't even call her Ky.

"Well, we are the cutest." I swear, you are such a woman, Aiden. And I don't mean that as a compliment like I usually do.

I stand up from the table before I know what I am doing. "I just remembered." What did I just remember? Say something, Davies, they are all looking at you. "That I have to go." The ambiguous has never failed me before. And I've never been happier that I didn't take my shoes off, take that stupid evil floor with your stupid evil fake shine. I'm out the door before I'm sure any of them know what is happening.

I start down the street. One problem, I have no idea where I am. Too bad. I can't just sit around and wait for Freddy and run the risk of having to hear the rocks voice. I may break, and I'm not sure what that would entail, but I'm sure it wouldn't be pleasurable to his nose.

"Ashley! Where are you going?" Ugh, now she decides she wants to be around me. It's five days too late, Doc. Why was I never a fast walker?

"Away from you." I thought this fact would be obvious.

"Why?" Because sometimes I feel like you hit me metaphorically with a bat the size of your beautiful legs. That's why.

I turn to face her. Why is there nothing to lean on in the street? I need something to hold me up because my legs don't seem to want the task. "Are you serious?"

"Of course I am serious." Don't look so lost, Doc. You aren't as innocent as you play. "Dinner wasn't over." So? I wasn't eating anyways. You took my appetite away. She is grabbing my hand now, standing way too close for comfort. "You didn't even get desert." It's doubtful I'd be getting any desert I actually wanted, anyways.

"I really don't want your desert, Doc." I take my hand away from her. I try to avoid her down turned eyes. I don't need to see her frown right now. It's the last thing I need because it'll make me break, and I refuse to break right now. I refuse. "What do you want?" What do you want from me?

"I'm glad you came." Well, that makes one of us. Because I am so not glad I came. Actually, I'm pretty sure I may fire Freddy for bringing me here. He should have known it was a bad idea.

"Could have fooled me." You couldn't really say it with your lips all over his and your fingers laced with his way too large hands.

"What's that mean?" You're the mind reader. You figure it out. I'm done saying things out loud to you. I'm already lame enough, and obvious, and so ridiculously foolish that I can barely look in a mirror.

"A note, Doc?" A four sentence note at that. And none of those sentences told me anything I really wanted to know. None of them held her in them at all.

"Ashley." Why'd I ever give her permission to use my first name, anyways? My heart hates it. It still punches me a little every time she uses it, and I'm still numb a little every time it happens. "I didn't leave until noon." Noon? Noon is an ungodly hour on a Sunday. "I had a son to pick up." Oh, don't use Blue Eyes against me. That's low. "I didn't want to wake you up." If I had known the alternative I would have gladly woken up. Why can't five days affect her too? Why doesn't she smile at me and miss me?

"Why'd you even come over at all?" Why couldn't you have left me the pretty blonde, and my thoughts, and my voices, and just left me to be miserable, because at least I was miserable without knowing how it felt to be in a picture worth hanging.

"I told you why." Actually, she really didn't, did she?

"It's just not enough, Doc." I wish it was. I wish it was too much. I wish I could walk away right now, like I know I need to. My legs never want to work around her anymore.

"I don't know what you want." Yeah, welcome to my personal hell then.

"I want." What do I want? "I want you to never stop smiling at me. I want to write music to your laugh. I want." I don't know how I am breathing with those eyes looking at me so intently that I'm sure all the intensity in me, in the sky, had to be taken up by them. "I want to be able to hold you every night because I want to remember what it feels like to hold something that is everything, because I don't think everythings come along everyday." And with that, I am no longer breathing.

"Ashley." She sighs and looks away from me. Someone bury me now, before she has a chance to. "I have cancer."

This is worse than being buried. This is being drowned. Drowned slowly and alive, alive for longer than you should be, and I think it's on my own tears, but I can't be sure, because I am running too fast for that, I'm running too fast away from her, down this long, lonely street all by myself, asking for anyone, anywhere to help me, but I don't know how they can. How can they when they can't even get at all of me? I left the biggest part of myself miles back there with the only person I ever thought could save me at all.


	15. Hostage Situation

**Session Eight: **Hostage Situation.

I'm being held hostage. No, really. In a car that I am sure I own. How is that for irony? No, really, my life is ironic. I was just sitting in my room with my new best friend Jose Cuervo, my other best friends ran out, when two rather rude men picked me up and carried me to the car.

Don't worry. I saved the Cuervo. It is being lovingly stroked in my arms. I'd never let any harm come to it. I take good care of my best friends. You know who calls me her friend? The doc. She doesn't treat me like much of a friend. What kind of friends gets sick without consulting me? I should have been consulted. Then I would have told her no. She cannot get sick. I won't allow it.

I know where they have taken me. How? Well, because my captives happen to be on my payroll. Which happens to be something I should so fix. There is no room for hijackers on my payroll. That and I know the feeling of being close to her. It feels like kicking in my abdomen. "I'm not going in there." There being the place that so started all this. So started my personal hell. I was so okay before I knew how all this felt.

"Yes you are." What's it called when someone forces you to do something against your will? "And give me that bottle, you drunk." He reaches for my bottle. No fair. No fricken fair. He has better motor skills than me. I wish I was in heels. I bet he'd double guess that move with a heel between the eyes.

"No, I'd rather go to prison." Prison would hurt so much less. I wonder if they have moonshine in prison. Moonshine seems like it would be a prison thing.

"No you wouldn't." That's true because I'm already someone's bitch. I don't think they'd understand that there. Psh, I barely understand it.

"Charlie, give me my bottle back." It's not nice to take a girls only best friend away. Not nice at all. Actually, while you're giving the bottle back could you find me some salt? It's just not the same. I can do without the lime though.

"This is almost as bad as the binge of '03." Which binge of '03? '03 was a bad year. You must be more specific, Frederick.

"She had it coming." I want to go home and watch Chicago. A need for scantily clad woman singing show tunes is a good excuse to miss a session, right? Seemingly, consuming vast amounts of alcohol isn't a good enough excuse. I bet if I needed my stomach pumped they'd have them do it in the office. The bastards.

"Ashley." Use of the first name is never good usage in these situations. When I'm drunk I should change my first name. How about Candy? Too stripperish? "There was no she involved, just a poor un-expecting bartender." Un-expecting? She cut me off. Me. She cut me off in my own club. Fifteen shots is not a limit it's a guide line. Whatever.

Freddy chuckles from the driver's seat. Who said he could join? That is so not what I pay him for. This so isn't what I pay either of them for. "And your poor driver who had to carry you and got kicked in the face." Yeah, well, I apologized, I think.

"You're both fired." There, much better. That'll teach them. You know, all the things they need to be taught. Wait, I'm lost.

"Tell us that when you're sober." Should it matter? I am the boss. The head honcho. The big, something or another. I so pay them.

"Does it matter?" No one ever listens. You'd think people would listen to a pretty millionaire. You would think.

"Yes, I think this is the twenty-third time you've fired us." Really? That's it? I must like them more than I thought.

"And you're still here?" Really, no one listens to me. Not even the people I help feed. That's when you really know you are officially a joke. This is really her fault. I may have been a joke before, but I was too consumed too notice.

"You're already an hour late." So why go at all? We can be doing something productive. You know what would be more productive? Buying me some salt and giving me my friend back. "We're lucky that Dr. Carlin seems to be understanding." No, no we are not lucky that she is understanding. Understanding means that this hurts. Understanding means that she's here, in my head, in my heart, and I can't drink her out. Understanding is not lucky. Understanding is killing me.

"Dr. Carlin is a liar." A liar whose evil plan for world domination must include winning over my emotions and then crushing me. Crushing me hard. "Super villains can't get cancer. Caner doesn't affect the super." See, I've figured it all out. This is all just too impossible. I've so beaten her with simple logic.

Charles grabs my hand, which obviously startles me, we have a strictly no touching policy in the back of this limo. Well, me and him do. That policy doesn't hold for anyone else. Have I mentioned I love this limo? "Is this what this is all about?" Don't give me the sympathy eyes. I don't need sympathy. This is all just a ploy anyways.

The car comes to a stop and Freddy turns towards us from his seat way up there. "When I found her in her room she was on the laptop looking up cancer on webMD." Freddy is such a nark. A nark and a hijacker.

Charles drops my hand and rolls his eyes. He so got that from me, just saying. I can't really sue him. I'm pretty sure he's sleeping with my lawyer anyways. "Ashley, how many times do I have to tell you, the internet is a dangerous place for you when you are drunk?" I'm sure it's a lot safer than, let's say the ocean, when I am drunk. I was so going to go swimming. You should just be thankful that Jose told me it was a bad idea. Well, Jose with a voice that sounded suspiciously like the doc's. But I'm not questioning it.

"I only got into the message boards once." And how was I supposed to know they'd take me seriously? I mean I can only imagine how many people claim to be me on the internet. Well, I guess they don't have webcams, but really, I think he should just be proud that while intoxicated I can manage one of those devilish devices.

"Once was enough for internet blogs around the country to know that your favorite panty color is dark green to go with your eyes." What? Brown and green go good together? They're earth tones and all that. I like to be matching.

"Well, it is." You really shouldn't lie to your fans, and someone did ask.

"Doesn't matter." Psh, he's just mad because no one wants to know his boxer colors. They're usually polka dot, in case you were wondering. "How many times do we have to have the PR talk?" If I say never again do you think it would upset him a little?

"But millions of people wanted to know." Yeah, millions. Because millions of people want me, just not the right one. Not the one with the three hundred sixty one square kilometers of water held within them. "Millions of people. No hyenas. Hyenas don't want to know those things." No matter how strongly I want them to want to know. No matter how much I want to show them.

"That's because hyenas are animals, Ashley." Frederick, I so didn't ask you to talk right now.

"Don't call her an animal." And don't look at me like I am crazy. I'm completely sane. "Only I can call her an animal." And I don't think I've done it out loud. Anyways, if she is a hyena she is one of those pretty ones with the nice coats, you know, the ones they take pictures of, not the annoying ones on the Discovery Channel.

"Let's get you in that building." Freddy opens my door and scoops me into his arms. Why is it always like this? I am not a doll that they can carry wherever they please. But if I was a doll I'd hope I'd have a cool name. Something like. Badass Ashley. Okay, not so cool, but best I can come up with as I'm being carried through cold air totally not on my own regard.

I really think the whole carrying thing just adds to the hostage scenario, just saying. "Why does Freddy always carry me?"

Charles follows behind us. "Because Freddy doesn't keep well manicured fingers." What he means to say is, Freddy has rippling muscles and I feel that it is more important to go get a manicure than to pump iron. Also, I like to watch Freddy carry large things and imagine that they are me. Not that I am large, or anything. Anyways, the moral of this story is, I could so take Charles.

Cold building, cold. I look around the lobby. Hey, no, wait the stairs are this way, guys. The stairs. The stairs are your friends. "There's no way I am going in that elevator." Elevators equal death. Just ask the people at Disney, yeah Disney, the happiest place on Earth even knows elevators equal death, look at the Tower of Terror.

"I can't carry you up eleven stories." I don't see why not. I got up eleven stories in Choos blasted out of my mind. So much more difficult than carrying one-hundred pound girls up some stairs. What a pansy. God, will the men in my life ever man up?

"Well, maybe you should work out more." And I mean actually work out Mr. Charles Jacobs not stare at men's rippling abs and toned biceps. There's only room for one sleaze in this group of misfits and you're looking at her. Plus, I'm the star; I can be whoever I want to be. Wait, I'm talking to Freddy. Well, he works out too much. Maybe you should actually put that strength to use instead of opening cans for Charles. Oh, but you can still open my bottles. You're good for that.

I swing my legs frantically. No really, I'm too young to die. "Ashley." That's Candy to you, mister. Charles grabs my legs. Damnit. Maybe he is stronger than I give him credit for. Whatever, I could still take him.

Well, I could take him sober, I swear. Stupid legs, you still aren't fully functional anyways, are you? No, the doc numbed you yesterday, and her power is still strong. "I hate both of you." That's right, take that.

"We know." Oh, come on, Charlie, at least pretend like you believe me. You bitch. "But you are still going in the elevator." If I wouldn't slur my screams, I'd so scream out. Seriously, one drunken girl being carried around by two sober men. It would look bad for them. But if they get arrested how would I get home?

I guess I have no other options. I still think Freddy is a pansy for not taking the stairs. I'm sure he didn't do enough cardio today anyways. "If we die in the elevator I'm so firing the both of you."

"We know." That's it, for every second we are in this death trap I am taking off money from their checks. Large sums of money. Money that they'll need. Actually, I'm not sure what they need money for, they eat my food, they stay at my place most of the time, and they drive my cars, and they drink off of my tabs, well, in Charles case. How rude. Whatever, pay cuts it is.

Isn't this taking long? I mean, eleven stories should be like, what? Ten seconds at most? And what's with the dings? Huh? I mean they are just mocking you, screaming, 'hey, you're now another fourteen feet in the air, your death will be just that much more painful.' I close my eyes. There's no way I am watching my own death. "See, we are here in one piece." That's a matter of opinion. Plus, I can't see anything.

"I hate you both." But not as much as I hate elevators, so you can avoid my death gaze for now as I stare daggers at the retreating elevator as Freddy carries me through the portals to hell.

Look it's the fossil. Why do all old women have short hair? I'm giving the fossil a makeover for Christmas. Wait, wait, she's the one that gave the doc my phone number. It's really all her fault to begin with. She gets noting, nada, null. "Is Dr. Carlin still in?" She's one of the minions, Charlie, you don't have to be so nice. They carry metaphysical knives, you know.

"Yes, she's been waiting for you." Waiting to butcher the remainder of my insides? That's great. If I was on the ground I'd so be going in the other direction. Even the evil elevator is better than this.

"Thank you." Damnit, Charles, don't thank her. I'm going to start thinking your on their sadistic team. Charles opens the door and Freddy, carrying me, follows him in. Would I be a broken record if I tried one more time to threaten to fire them? Probably.

"Here she is Dr. Carlin." If I close my eyes and I can't see her, does that mean she can't see me? Doesn't hurt to try it. No, I guess it does, because my eyes have found hers and their paralyzing gaze and I can't close my eyes no matter how hard I try.

"You can put her on the couch Freddy." Freddy walks me over to Hank. Oh, Hank, how I've missed you. You and your amazing black cushions and happy, happy leather with just the right amount of wear. "Is she alright?" Oh, don't pretend like you care, Doc.

"No, you can take me home, Freddy." I wonder if the doc will let me take Hank with me. He likes me better anyways. Look how quickly it is for me to find a comfortable spot. We are so in sync it's crazy. "I'll up your pay." That'll even it out from when I decreased it because of your elevator stint.

"She says that a lot." So? Do I not keep you fed? You're like an ungrateful stepchild. "Never happens." Psh, only because you and Charles don't need a pay raise. Really, they are paid better than the rest of my employees double. I kind of like them.

"She'll be fine." That's a matter of opinion, Charles. You, however, may not be. Especially if they got to you. I worry for your soul. "I took her last bottle away." And that's called theft. You and the doc do have a lot in common. Taking my things without asking. Psh.

"We'll be waiting in the waiting room, Dr. Carlin." Abandoners, bloody abandoners. This is treason or mutiny, or some other ugly words that makes them asses. That's what this is.

"Alright. Thank you Charles, Freddy." I watch as the door closes. Have I mentioned I hate that door lately? Hank hates it with me, right Hank?

"Oh, Ashley." And she's on her knees in front of me. We've been here before, haven't we? Her hands are in my hair. Yes, I remember the burning feeling. We've definitely been here before. Can't you give me a break, Doc? It burns enough to look at you.

"I so wasn't going to come here." I just think she really needs to know where she stands. I don't need her. I did five days before, remember? I did five days and all I did was miss her, you know what she did? She missed him. A rock is better than me. How do I take this? "They made me." Literally. There was carrying and kicking involved.

"I'm glad they did." Well, you are alone in that, because I enjoyed it much better when I was breathing through alcohol and not your smile. Your smile will kill me faster than any booze bottle ever could.

"What do you care, Doc?" I know you can read me, let alone my mind, and you knew, you knew I wouldn't want to know that. You knew I'd prefer a lie. I live in lies everyday. Couldn't you have come up with some weird illness to tell me, one I could make fun of the name, there's nothing funny about a word like cancer.

"I care a lot." Oh, go tell it to your fiancé and live in lover, Madison. I don't need to hear it. I don't care if it's the only thing I need, I'd rather deny myself. And I've never denied myself before.

This is easily solved. "If you cared you wouldn't die." Obviously.

"Ashley, I said cancer." I don't see her point. "I didn't say dying." If you're not dying then why do I feel like I am dying? Explain that, Doc. "There is a difference." But, cancer leads to death, ask the Discovery channel and webMD it'll tell you. It told me.

"Nope, no difference." Isn't she supposed to be the doctor? Can psychiatrists perform surgeries? That would be so weird to have your brain ninja perform brain surgery on you. If I ever need brain surgery, I'm requesting the Doc. I'd suppose super powers would be beneficial in the operating room. "Haven't you ever watched A Walk to Remember?" I think I just won this one.

She laughs. This is so not a time to laugh, Doc. "I thought you didn't like to watch lusty characters get it on?"

"They so didn't get it on in that movie." Man does that sound familiar. "Oh my God, it is my life." I bury my head into the cushion. I'm so glad you're here for me Hank. I don't think I could face her alone, with her soothing hands making trails down my skull that'll never feel right without her now. "You don't have a list of things to do, do you? Because I'll just give you some money, or something." She's looking at me strange. Whatever, Doc, I'm no Shane West.

I'd want to swim in money, just saying. I really think it's possible if it's all pennies. "Ashley." Huh? Oh, that's Candy now, Doc. Especially to you. My heart hates when you say my name, it might even bleed. I'm not sure. Me and my heart aren't really talking right now. "How much did you have to drink?" All my best friends. I was very sad to see them go.

"Well, I thought I'd have a shot every time I thought about you." Which was actually one of my better ideas due to the fact that my mind seemingly has a fascination with blue eyes and music laughs. "See, none of this would have happened if you would have just stopped infiltrating my mind." Really, none of it at all.

"Ashley." Didn't we cover this already? Don't tell me your powers are failing you, Doc. "You do know that I can't really infiltrate your mind, right?" Ha, I get it. I won't be fooled, Doc. It'll take more than that to pull the wool over my eyes.

"Doc." Doc, Doc, Doc. "I am privy to your master plan of world domination." And have been for along time. Don't be upset, Hank, I couldn't tell you without compromising your situation. You know, sitting in there room with her for hours on end. All day. I wonder if she ever changes in here. You lucky bastard.

"It's true that I want to dominate a few things." Can I be one of them? That would be so hot. Shut up, Davies, you're mad at her. "But the world isn't one of them." Why not? If you dominate the world, I do believe you dominate everything else. It just seems like it would work that way. "Way too big and impersonal." Big and impersonal can be nice. Especially when it comes to guys.

"I'll take the world then." Since lately it seems like her evil plan is more than full proof. Everyone is her minion. "It owes me." Does it ever owe me.

"Oh? And why is that?" I think you know why.

"It won't let me have you." I wonder if my brain and my mouth are in communication anymore. It's doubtful. Look at all these things that are being said that should never be said. They should be locked somewhere in my head and ignored. Suppressed and ignored, just how I like my feelings.

The doc's hands have stopped their trails. I knew they'd eventually stop. "You ran away, Ashley." She has legs; she could have ran after me. She could have. But she went back into her cozy little house and back into the arms of a man whose hands are too large for hers and whose lips are too rough to be touching her.

"You have cancer." You have me. You have me and I want me back. And plus I only ran about a mile before I collapsed and cried until Freddy got there. I have the skinned knees to prove it.

It's quiet for sometime before her hands begin their trails again and I sigh, but not consciously, and I can't think of anywhere else on this planet I'd rather be, but I'll never admit it. Maybe to Hank and Jose but that's about it. It's mostly for Hank anyways. "Have you eaten anything?" She breaks the silence.

Wrong thing to say. Geez, Doc, you're usually so much better at this. "You took my appetite too." Along with everything else. Can't you leave me with anything?

"Maybe we can go get something to eat later." Is she kidding?

"No, no, Doc." I can't do it anymore. "No more innocent dinners. I can't do them anymore." And is that ever the truth. Eating with her has never been good to me. I'll take it as a sign.

She chuckles quietly, more quiet than usual, and I really hope she isn't trying to make my head hurt because my ears will strain forever to catch every note in that laughter. I'm just a ridiculous sap. I hope I beat myself up once I snap out of this. "I thought you might say that. So I brought you some sweet potatoes. They're in my desk." I hate her so much. Didn't someone smart once say perfection should be hated? Yeah, I like that person a lot right now.

"I once said I'd kill for those sweet potatoes." And at the time I was so planning on killing Jake for even thinking he could touch them before me. Stupid boy. With his stupid hair. Seriously, I really do need to buy him a comb for Christmas this year. I say that every year, and I always forget. He's just not important.

"Well, let me go get them for you." But before she can get up, before she can remove her hand, because I know the cold will come then, I grab her free hand, stopping her.

"No, don't move." I'm not that hungry anyways. And those sweet potatoes aren't that great, now that I think about it.

"Ashley." Ugh, she is trying to kill me. It's official, because I am going to have a heart attack, and because I am not talking to my heart, I'm not going to know it until it's far from too late. "What else are you on?" On? What?

"I can't take drugs anymore, Doc." I thought it would be pretty obvious. I'd be a lot more numb right now, and there'd be a lot more laughing and a lot less suppressed tears. "You took them away from me with your frowns and headshakes." Like you've taken everything else. I hope you're pretty proud of yourself. "Kind of like how you took my organs." Yeah, those too. Like my lungs. I'd really like them back. I haven't breathed correctly in almost a week.

"When was the last time you slept with someone?" You're really rubbing it in now, aren't you?

"I can't even remember." Is that really what I am down to now? I am what I use to make fun of less than two months ago. I blame her. I blame her so much. Especially because the two times I almost did, who shows up? Yeah, her. If there's proof of her evil powers, I think this is it. "I told you I wasn't a sex addict." At least I get the semi-satisfaction of being right. Again. One day, people will appreciate the fact that I am right, a lot. A lot more than they think. A lot more than I get credit for. Even from you, Doc. And you give me more credit than anyone ever has. Which, I so hate you a little for, by the way.

"I guess you were right." You guess? Come on, I deserve more than that. "You don't get addicted." Ding, ding, ding, we have a winner. Ashley Davies is no one's bitch.

Well, almost. "Except to you, Doc." For some reason I can't just get you out of my head. You're worse than a drug. But at least the drugs need me too. The drugs need me to be something other than shapes and chemicals, they need me to breathe. Why can't you be more like a drug? And less like an everything.

"Come on, Ash, you don't know what you are saying." I really wish that was the case, and I wish I could hide behind that. But, the truth is, I've never been so aware of what I was saying.

And no matter how well I can lie to myself, I'm becoming more and more terrible at lying to her. I have a feeling I never really could to begin with. "That's not true, Doc."

"Ashley, please." I'm not really sure what she's begging me for, but her eyes are pleading with me. I'm so lost. I'm always so unbelievably lost when it comes to her.

Sorry, Hank, but I need to do this. I roll, I roll to the floor and she scoots back in surprise, giving me room. Her hand is gone from my hair, but I am kneeling now as well, eyelevel with her and this time my hand is in her hair, making its own trails. I hope they burn. I hope they burn more than I hope anything else right now.

"Ashley." Maybe being this close steals her breath too. Because she just watches me. And maybe if I sit here and she's quiet I can make up this conversation in my head and we'll never really have to have it.

"Even when I am drunk. Even when I'm with pretty blondes. Even when I am sleeping. I can't escape you, Doc." And I know somewhere inside of me I am grateful for this, because even when she's not here, I see her, I hear her, and if I can close my eyes really tight, I can feel her. Just not in the ways I want to feel her. "Spencer. I need you more than I have ever, ever needed anything." Her name is foreign on my tongue, but leaves a smile with its trail. "Even more than Jack, Morgan and Jose put together." And that's a lot of need. I guess, I probably could have done without the alcohol references. I always ruin the mood.

"Ashley." She has my hand in her hand now. We are so close. So very, very close "You scare me more than anything ever has." How do I take that? How can I take that? How do I stop the shiver that has gone down and up my body? How do I shut these thoughts up?

And I know what I am going to do, and I can almost fool myself that she will let me. And it would have happened, it would have, but her cell is ringing. It's the loudest noise I've heard all day, and it hurts my ears something terrible. And I hate whoever it is with a passion I have never felt before, except for this other new passion that I have balling up inside of me that's been slowly leaking out lately.

"Hello?" And I really can't believe she's answered it. It's just not the time for cell phone calls, or other people. A long pregnant pause. "We'll be there as soon as we can." We? The Doc closes her phone and turns her attention back at me. One day, I'll remember how to close my eyes to that tide that is her eyes. "Madison is in labor."

Damnit, I have so many unused fat jokes. Couldn't she have just waited a couple more months? I haven't had ample opportunity. "And?" And she should have waited at least another twenty minutes or so.

She rolls her eyes. I'd throw a mental fit over this but she looks so cute because her eyes can't get all the way around they get half way and drop, and right now it's the most adorable thing I've ever seen. "I need a lift." What? Oh God, no. "And you happen to have your own entourage waiting out there." I shake my head. Words cannot express how much I do not want to be anywhere near a banshee when she gives birth. I can only manage the damage to my ears and my soul. "I'll do anything you want?"

"Anything?" Do not be a perv, Davies. "Dinner." I'm surprisingly proud of you.

"I thought no more dinners." Yeah, so did I.

"At my house. Saturday night. Just me and you." What? Davies, Saturdays are not for eating. Saturdays are for drinking. But I have to give her something, something that isn't running and tears and empty words. Saturday is all I have.

She stands and offers me her hand. I grab it and I am pulled into a hug. A hug that I do not mind. A hug I welcome more than I care to admit. A hug that is almost better than anything else I was going to do earlier. This is what I've been looking for since Saturday night, because I am holding everything again, and it just feels right. "That sounds perfect, Ashley." Doesn't it? I'm not quite sure what, but right now, it all sounds perfect.

And she breaks the hug but takes my hand, leading me towards the door, but I don't mind, I don't mind at all. Because I'll let her lead me through any door she wants to, as long as she's there to lead me at all. Because I may not have found her weakness yet, but I am more than certain that I am clutching mine right now, with no ideas of letting go.


	16. Hold it Against Me

**Hold it Against Me. **

Have I mentioned yet my hate of hospitals? No really, hate. It's up there with elevators. They're so lucky they didn't make me take a hospital elevator. I wouldn't have survived. The hatred would have consumed me. The good news? Charles let me finish off my last best friend on the way here. The bad news? I'm out of best friends and really tequila just isn't right without salt.

And why do all hospitals smell the same? No, really. You would think at least one of them would decide, hey we want to try a new approach. Hospitals aren't really business savvy are they? Think about it. Would you rather go to a hospital that smells of dying flowers and medication or one that smells of Febreeze? Think about it. And you know which hospital should start this new trend? The one that I am being dragged along in right now. And why are all hospitals like mazes? You would think a place that the old and senile frequent would be a little easier to navigate. The sadists.

You know who else is a sadist? The doc. She's spoken only about three words to me since we left the office and that was just to tell me that she does not in fact carry emergency bats of salt in her purse. What good is a purse then? I checked, no flask either. Her purse is probably the most boring thing I've ever snooped inside of. Don't worry, I reassured her that I would spice it up. For some reason she didn't look thrilled.

I feel a kinship with those kids in the airport, you know, the ones on leashes. But they're probably luckier than me; they aren't being pulled towards pure evil, well, unless they are flying to the Midwest, especially this time of year. "Hey, Doc –" But I am cut off by the view of Glen pacing like his shoes were on fire outside a room that screams pure evil. No really, screams. I can hear her from here. You'd think that the spawn comes out with horns. And I so know that they don't. That would be entirely too obvious. 

"Glen!" The brick stops pacing and stares our way. Yeah, I know that look in his eyes. Don't worry; I don't think she's set to laser yet today. "What are you doing out here?" If Madison is in there with only a hospital gown on. I don't blame the guy. Don't yell at the poor guy for being sane.

"She just keeps asking for you." Well, if the alternative is Glen, then yeah I understand. But, Glen's the one that slept with her; he's the one that should be punished. Not the Doc.

"Glen, we've talked about this." You think they talk often about how Glen is a pansy who's afraid of his mythical creature of a wife? She grabs his hand and begins to pull him towards the door. Poor guy, I know the feeling. "Ashley you going to be okay out here?"

No, absolutely not. I may jump out a window. I wonder if the glass in hospitals is bullet proof. This one time I was drinking and I wanted to exercise, and I got on the treadmill and then I learned that you can't go forty miles an hour without being shot into the glass behind you. Good thing that was bulletproof glass, since we were on the seventeenth floor. Oh, right, the doc. "Uh, yeah, sure, Doc." It sure made for some interesting pictures.

She finally gets him into the room and shuts the door. He should just be happy that she can't carry him in the room without revealing her secret powers, that would be doubly embarrassing. Wait, wait, she can't leave me out here with them. Seriously? DNA sharer and the rock. And I thought this day couldn't get any worse. If I was a stealing prostitute in a past life I must have been Hitler's prostitute, because I'm thinking that the higher beings really have it out for me.

Here it comes. She's coming towards me. "Ashley!" And the hug. You would think someone who shares DNA with me would understand my aversion of all platonic touching. But nope. Just doesn't seem that way. "I'm so glad you're here!" Well, that makes one of us. I'd much prefer to be, well, anywhere. I'd even take roadside rest area over this. And I've seen some bad roadside rest areas in my day. It happens when you're on a tour bus with way too many people for comfort.

Is she really pulling me around now too? What happened to the whole big sister, little sister dynamic? Why does no one respect the dynamics anymore? She's pulling me towards a group of chairs that only the rock occupies at the moment. Really, I think we should just leave it that way. I mean, really, the chairs are probably more his speed anyways. Really. I guess Kyla doesn't agree. Whatever, it's obviously only half DNA.

I am pushed into a chair. Of course, because my luck means it couldn't be any different, right next to my adversary. Yeah, I have my own advisory now. I've never had an adversary with a penis before. I feel that I could so own him on the adversary front. Penis means way too easy of a weak point. Just saying. "Ashley." He greets me with a smile. "How are you?" How do you think I am?

"Aiden." I nod in his direction. What? It's all he's getting. It's better than how I greet my mother, and sometimes my accountant. He should just be happy for that.

"So, what are you doing here, Ash?" Ha, like I am privy to the reasons of my locations anymore. Obviously no one told her that the Doc kind of owns my organs. I need to go where they go. You know, for survival. "I thought you hated Madison." And see now people are doubting the one constant relationship in my life.

"Oh, I brought the doc." What's with the questioning glance? Oh come on. She's more of a Doc than a Spencer. Look at her. You know, I should so get her black rimmed glasses. What? They'd frame her face, or something. "Spencer." Kyla is officially one of the minions. Making me say her name like that.

"Well, I'm glad she finally got here." Finally? If there was a God somewhere that liked me in the slightest no one would have ever called her. "I think Madison was crossing her legs until she got here." If she crossed her legs long enough do you think that hell would take its spawn back? Okay, I should lay off the kids. Maybe they'll take after the evil super power side of the family. Maybe they'll have the blue eyes. Shut up, Davies.

"You okay, Ash?" I'd be a lot better if I wasn't here. I'd much prefer to be in my club with a plethora of my friends all buying to be my best friend. You know, now that I've lost Jose. Maybe a Jose Junior is in order. This time with salt. Oh, and I'd be better if you never said my name again, but thanks for asking.

"Headache." Now the question is do I have a headache or is he a headache? I'll probably never figure out the answer. You know what could cure this? A sharp beating in the head. At least then I'd be unconscious. So much better than this situation.

"I know what will make you feel better!" The lack of joyous noises coming from your orifices? "Starbucks!" Wow, she is promoted back to sister. It's true, only someone that smart could be related to me. "You want anything, Aid?" And demoted again. Why isn't it common knowledge that it is in fact impossible for a rock to consume water? I think. There was that one fairy tale when the giant could… you get the picture.

"Yeah, plain coffee, thanks Ky." So boring. Kind of like the sex was. What? It was. Ugh, this better be the best Starbucks in the world to leave me alone with Mr. I probably didn't learn how to tie my shoes until I was ten.

"Hurry back, Kyla," I call after her retreating form. Or I'm sending Christine to your house for Christmas. Yeah, take that. What? I think it's a good threat. There's nothing wrong with using your aging mother as ammunition, especially if it's only mental ammunition.

The rock is playing with his hands. His nervous habit that always made me want to drug him, cut off his hands and throw them to alligators to cover up the evidence. Okay, maybe not always, but that's what I decided would be the best course of action for my sanity. "I don't know if she told you." Then you probably shouldn't be telling me you stupid boy with your stupid hair and stupid hands. Your hands are just too big. "But Spencer is sick." No, Spencer is not sick because sick sounds like dying and the doc told me; she told me cancer doesn't mean dying. And the doc is smarter than you, though that isn't hard.

Damnit, why isn't Kyla back yet? Kyla would know. Kyla would tell him so I wouldn't have to say any words that may cause leakage in the eye area. I said leakage, not tears. Just thought we'd clear that up. "She's not sick, Aiden." There, see, I did surprisingly well. Wait, wait, unclench the fist, Davies. There, now, I've done surprisingly well.

"I just don't know what to do, Ash." What is with people and not hearing me? Go and buy a hearing aid that's what you should do. You rock. "I thought this was all over five years ago." Five years ago? Don't, Davies. Don't even go there. He's a rock. He doesn't know what he's saying.

"Five years ago?" Damnit, Davies. Do we really need to go back to Diversion 101? Whatever, don't blame me when you can't sleep tonight.

Aiden nods, never taking his eyes off the floor. "She had a partial mastectomy five years ago." Wait, mastectomy? But her chest is perfect. No, really. I think I caught the blind man down by the front doors checking them out. That good. "We thought it was gone for good."

This seems more like a she thing than a you thing. And she's fine. She told me so. Didn't she? She did. "She's fine." I shake my head. The doc wouldn't lie to me. I can't lie to her, so she can't lie to me. Right? That's how it should be. That's how it works.

"That's what she always says." Well, if you had any brains and knew that all the water in that stupid lake in Chicago should be used solely to paint pictures of the ocean, and even then it's barely worthy, you'd know that the Doc knows everything. It's part of being a super genius.

"Is it bad?" You don't want to know, Davies, will you just shut up before the answers start to strangle you; you have a specialist in that already.

"No, not yet." See the doc wouldn't lie to me. She can't lie to me. She can't. "Spencer always says she's fine." And don't look at me with those sad eyes; they just look like marshy water, or something. What? You try to think of something disgusting and green that sounds sad but not aw sad. Yeah, that's what I thought. Can't do it, can you? "It's hard to believe her anymore." Wait, wait, hard to believe the doc? See, you really don't know anything. The doc's eyes can't lie.

That's it. I am so going to cut him. He's had it coming for awhile now. Don't let it ever be said that Ashley Davies is all talk and no action. Now if only I had something to cut him with. You think you can make a shank out of terrible magazines? It's not like anyone is going to read Bass Weekly anyways. And what could they possibly have to say weekly? "Come on, Ash." Huh? It's the doc and she has my hand, pulling me off the couch. 

"Where are you going, Spence?" Wow, he's just as confused as I am. This never happens. She always confuses me the most. I wish I had a camera. You never have a camera when you need one. The government spends all that money looking up how to implant us with microchips, what about cameras? I'd much prefer cameras.

"We're going out." Aw, she really does care. This is more than proof. Or she just doesn't want me to cut the rock. Not that a shank can break pure rock anyways.

"Isn't your best friend giving birth to little demons?" Just got to make sure she isn't just pulling my string. It's way too good to be true. Especially since Aiden isn't following us and she has my hand.

"She needs Glen to be there." She also needs an exorcism, but who are we to say? "Plus, I don't do well with blood." Do mythical creatures bleed per say? "Why do you think I went to medical school but sit in an office and listen to you talk all day?" Because who wouldn't want to?

"What about –" Your friends, your family, your mistake of a fiancé? 

"Are you coming or not?" Well, let's weigh the alternatives. I could go back and wait to see what banshee babies look like. I'm sure the history channel would be interested. And try to accomplish the amazing feat of lowering my IQ to be able to stand Aiden. Oh, and my Starbucks hasn't come back yet.

Aw, but look at that head tilt and that bottom lip bite. Seriously, she has to practice that in the mirror. Okay, adorable mannerisms totally trump Starbucks any day. "Shut up, Doc, you know I'm coming." In more ways than one. "Wait, on one condition." What? I'm not always easy. I swear.

"No, you still have to come to Monday's session." Nope, but I'll keep that in mind for later. Like I would waste my one condition on that.

"No elevator." No more evil, elevators of doom. I've had enough with mocking dinging for the day.

She shakes her head but opens the door to the stairwell for me. That's right. Who could deny this? "You're going to have to overcome your fear sometime." Only if you're there to hold my hand, Doc. What? It makes me feel like I can be super too.

"Never in a hospital."

"You get used to them." Don't look at her Davies, don't do it. If you can't see it, it's not there. Just keep walking.

"You shouldn't have to." She shakes her head and a pregnant silence ensues. What? I thought the word was fitting.

"You know stairwells are just as confined as elevators." Why don't I just get myself a panic button and she can push it whenever she wants a good laugh. "So why stairwells and not elevators?" Because stairwells aren't being held over miles of empty space by a string.

However, my session ended over two hours ago. She's getting nothing. Serves her right dragging me here. "You ask too many questions, Doc."

She laughs as we exit the stairwell, she would laugh. She's been seriously lacking today. "I guess it comes with the job."

She stops in front of a black Mercedes. This is so a spy car if there was ever a spy car. "Who's Mercedes?" Because I want to play spy in it.

"Aiden's." It would be. This car screams I have issues with my inabilities in bed. Well, if cars could talk. I don't want to play in or with anything of Aiden's. Even the perfect spy car.

"Are we stealing it?" Because playing gangsters with Bugs Moran's evil clone could be almost as fun as playing spy.

"No, I have keys." She pulls a set of keys out of her purse. Not even fair. She steals my things all the time, why doesn't what's his name get the luxury?

"Can I pretend like we are stealing it?" She won't ruin my fun that easily.

"Sure, if you want to." Good, I wonder if Aiden would be too mad if I punched the window in. It's not like I can't pay to get in replaced. But that might hurt. Where's Freddy when you need him to punch things for you? That's right, nowhere to be seen. He's so getting a pay cut for that.

She opens the driver's door. "Wait, you aren't driving are you?" I want to live to be able to cut Freddy's pay.

"Yeah, I am." She smiles at me and leans against the open car door. Are you trying to kill me, Doc? And I don't mean in the physical way. Plus, if we are playing spy I want to be James Bond, he always gets all the cool gadgets, and he always got to drive.

"Let me drive." I always thought James Bond would be a much better series if it was Jamie Bond anyways. Come on, who wouldn't want to see a girl be the definition of awesome with two other girls in her bed. Just saying. I think it could be fun for the whole family.

"You're drunk." But still not drunk enough to be okay with your driving.

"I could still do better." A drunken monkey could do better.

"Well, let's go ask Aiden." She sure knows how to get what she wants. Have I mentioned lately she's so tricky? At least she isn't using her powers to steal any of my things.

I open the passenger's door and climb inside. "Ugh, shut up and get in the car." For once she's happy to oblige to my demands. Psh, only because, once again, she gets what she wants.

Why does it have to be a parking garage? Anytime there is a parking garage in the movies there is either death and destruction or large leaps of peril. Both of these things seem amazing to watch, just not when you are in the car. Therefore, my eyes will be permanently shut. "If I die, it's your fault."

"You're right." Damn straight I'm right. Revel in it, Davies, revel. "But you won't be alive to gloat." Ironic isn't it? I'm pretty sure I told you my life was ironic.

Anyways, back to reveling. "Can you say that first part again for me?"

"Oh, quiet you." Can she tell me to be quiet? I could so own her, couldn't I? No, not even close. Don't even try to fool yourself, Davies. "Why don't you put in a CD?"

I reach down and pick up the black CD case at my feet. What a pathetic selection. Bloodhound Gang? Must be Aiden's collection. Too bad he never made me sweat baby sweat. Do they really have a CD of mine on the same page as Kelly Clarkson? I knew this car had a strange vibe to it. Okay, wait, this is way too good to be true. It has to be a joke. "Wait, really?" I pull the CD out of the case to be sure of its authenticity. "R. Kelly?"

"It's Aiden's." I knew I'd find proof sooner or later. You better be worried, Doc. The brick and the rock may be doing more than thinking on the same frequency.

"Figures."

"Here put it in." I cannot believe she just took one of her hands off that wheel. No, really. The world will miss me, I swear. They'll be pissed at you, Doc. And who would want to wreck this nice car? Even if it does belong to a brainless oaf. She puts the CD in. Now, I really just can't believe she did that. "Just for you."

"Really funny, Doc." Isn't she just the comedian? Ha.

"Well, you do think you're the world's greatest." It's not my fault it's true. Ask People magazine. They'll tell you.

"So, where are we going?" I watch as we pass cars going an ungodly speed. How is this possible in LA? When I finally remember to check her diplomas, I'm checking the driver's license as well. Really, I should just have a background check done. It would save me a lot of time.

"Going?" Is this a foreign concept and someone forgot to inform me?

"Yeah, the last time I checked you drive in cars to reach destinations." Unless they completely changed the definition of car while I was busy not caring.

"Oh, I just like to drive." Doc, you are the only one that likes it when you drive. Actually, the world hates it. Not only do you scare people, but you also kill little, motherless trees, or something along those lines. "It helps me think."

"You just like to scare small children and fury animals." What do you suppose super geniuses think about? You would think that they'd already have all the basics covered by age five, so you think that they create new worlds too think of all the basics in them? That made a lot more sense a minute ago. She has to write fantasy for a reason. Think about it.

"Nope, maybe just you." And she finally admits it. Well, you're amazing at it. Better than anyone ever has been.

Why is this still polluting my ears? I turn off the CD and switch to a good station on the radio. One that won't play my music. I don't feel like hearing my voice today. "And that's why you are annoying." We'll forget to mention the real reasons you are annoying, you know, the fact that you consume everything that is me and make me feel like each minute I am wasting my breath if it isn't secretly writing a tune in your favor. Ugh, or something like that.

"Country?" Oh, here it comes. "I didn't take you as a country girl." Do you have to wear a cowboy hat and boots to listen to this stuff? Come on. And plus, Kid Rock and Michelle Branch both totally have done country. Which, doesn't actually make it cooler, actually the completely opposite in Kid Rock's case, but, actually I don't have a but with that, because Kelly Clarkson is doing country now too. Oh man, but country has Carrie Underwood, and she's hot. There, I definitely saved that mindless rant.

Whatever, Davies, just hum along to the song and pretend like she isn't weaving in-between cars to your doom. "If I said you had a beautiful body would you hold it against me?" Such a grand song, with just such a deep meaning.

She snickers. Did I expect anything less? "Probably." She's going to drive me to plastic surgery soon. Whatever, I'll make myself feel better and ask some pretty girl at my signing on Tuesday. At least they'll know you should so swoon in my presence.

"You would, Doc." Because your favorite pastime is to drive me insane. "And I like all music, Doc. Music is music." See, she doesn't know everything. I am debiting a point from the super genius mind reading team. Now I just need nine hundred ninety nine more points to catch up.

"You have an amazing voice." Wait, was that a compliment? I believe it was. This could be a sneaky trick, Davies.

"Yeah, that's what I get paid for." Paid ridiculously for. But who am I to complain? You know what I can complain about? I am sobering up, and that means I am experiencing unpleasant cerebral pains. I just really like the word cerebral.

"I can't sing." And I can't believe that. Not with that voice. Not with that laugh. Your voice is like spiced rum and your laugh is pure music. Impossible.

"We aren't all blessed." What? I'm not going to tell her that. I already feel like a foolish sap. She can get over it.

"No, but I have been lately." Wait, wait, what's lately? Want to give me a time frame with that reference, huh Doc? Please? "How are you feeling?" Or we can just ignore my mental pleadings all together. I hope with your mind reading you can see me flicking you off in there too.

Well, my cerebral cortex is burning. See, it's so much better when you add the cortex in there. Then you sound super smart. You could add hippocampus in there, but most people just think it's an animal and not part of the brain, and then they just laugh at you. "Would be better if you got me some more friends."

She shakes her head. I knew it. She wants my hippocampus to implode. "How about I'll be your friend?"

"You can't be my friend." Because I don't do friends and if I did do friends I'm pretty sure friends don't try to draw friends faces with crayons at two in the morning completely plastered, but stops because they realize that the crayons just don't have the right colors to match your eyes or your lips or the light lining of freckles that frame your nose no matter that you have the ninety-six box and no matter how many crayon colors you mix. And then cry over this realization, for longer than I'll admit.

"Why not?" Thank of something, Davies. And don't you dare say the latter.

"Well, because you don't keep an emergency bat of salt." Oh wow, you are lame. What? Salt is very beneficial in a friendly relationship with an alcohol enthusiast. Just saying.

"I'll work on that." Maybe I could get her some salt for Christmas. I could use a friend sometimes. One that I can't drink. But, I can always walk away from my bottles. And there's always an end to the bottles.

"Yeah, well, getting drunk on Jose is safer than getting drunk on you." Safer for me. Safer for all of me. Because I know that eventually the stupor is going to wear off and I can decide again when I go under it. I can control it.

"Well, I am cutting you off for now." Cutting off which one?

"Whatever, Mom." I have a date with the captain tonight and you are so not the boss of me. I won't let you take the captain away too. You already took my powders and sour lips and hot bodies.

This is my street. I know it, I can feel it. I feel the familiarity. Try to at least act relieved to be home, Davies. I swear if you start spewing things about not feeling like home without her, I will suffocate you with a Shakespeare book tonight while you sleep. "I figured you had plans tonight." Right, plans. Intrepid, you idiot. You were supposed to be there an hour ago. Right, right.

"Yeah, got to go to the club." You love the club. You bought most of the club. Your friends are there. Get over this, now.

She pulls up to my gate and leans over to type in the code. Wow, I barely remember that code, well without my trusty song to guide me. "You don't really have to hang out with me tomorrow night."

"What!" Don't be so hasty, Davies. Can you at least try to hang onto some of your image? Just a smidgen of it? I guess not. You did so just use the word smidgen. "I mean, no, I invited you."

That smile is all for me. All of it. Good to know since all my smile lately happen to be for her. That's it. Suffocating you. I mean it. "Good. How's eight sound?"

Like perfection. "Fine."

She parks the car in front of my door. Stupid driveway. I knew I should have asked for you to be bigger. "Well, have a good night, Ashley." She reaches over and hugs me as well as she can from our places in the car. "I'm sorry I dragged you there."

I unbutton my seat belt, or my bungee cord, not much difference when she's driving, and climb out of the car. "Anywhere with you, Doc, is worth being." And I turn fast and walk up the stairs to my house, the house I use to think was my sanctuary before I met an angel, and I refuse to turn around until I hear her speeding away because I can't see if I caused her to smile because if I saw her smile at me, for me, because of me, then it's doubtful drinking anything would be able to numb me.


	17. Out of My League

**Out of My League.**

"And why are you here?" I nearly fall off the chair I am leaning back on. And it is unlikely that Charles knows anything about mouth to mouth resuscitation, nor would I want him too, so if I would have fallen back, that would have been it for me. Especially because we all know, with my luck, I'm sure, somehow, I would have flown back and hit the fireplace mantel. Somehow. An up draft or something. Whatever, everyone has it out for me lately.

"Well, it looks like I am sitting." Because pacing got really repetitive about ten minutes ago. The ten minutes ago she was supposed to be here.

He sits in the chair opposite of me. "You know, someone decorated your dining room with candles?" How much money do you think it would take to get him to shut up right now? Or to hire someone to make him shut up for me. "Whoever you rented it out to overdid it." Wait, wait, over did? No, just ignore the flaming homosexual and continue your sulking.

"What would you change in there, you know, if you were that poor soul I rented it out to?" I shift uncomfortably in my chair. If only I had a rolling pin to knock that smile off his face. What? I've always kind of wanted to hit someone with rolling pin. All the classics did it. Would you really argue with Bugs Bunny? I personally think he'd be an expert on fun, and he did it all the time.

"What happened to 'I'm not wasting my dinner company; people can pay for that'?" This is why I need new employees; the ones I have know too much. He should just be happy I don't operate in mob fashion. "And, oh my God, you are completely sober, aren't you?" Well, I drank most of it two nights ago and you should just be happy there are no glass bottles within my reach. I know how much you like your face intact. I should introduce him to Aiden. They both like R. Kelly.

"Just, shut up." Pathetic, Davies. Whatever, I am going to cut off his back of the limo privileges.

"So, who is it?" It's so better to lie at this point. Please, just listen to me for once.

"The doc." Why do I even bother anymore?

"The one with cancer?" It's official. They did turn him. Look at those tiny, metaphysical knives. You must get the bigger ones after more training. "So, what happened to 'she's so annoying'?" He's grinning like the time Freddy told him the last James Bond plays for his team.

And I am frowning like the time Freddy told me I had no chance with Sophia Bush. "She's still annoying." For example, it's beyond annoying that I'm sober right now; it's beyond annoying that I've gotten four hours of sleep since Thursday; and it's way beyond annoying that I don't care as long as she shows up.

"Right, and that's why there are twenty candles lit in that room." He points in the direction of my dining room. "And that's why you look like undead." The undead? But before I can contemplate what an ignorant statement that is the doorbell rings. "Oh, shall I get it?"

I really wish looks could kill right now. I wouldn't have to worry about it. "No, you are going to go tell Richard to serve dinner and then you are going to go disappear." Preferably for the entire night.

"Aw, too bad, it's fun to watch you swoon." I punch him in the arm because he deserves it and because Ashley Davies so does not swoon, and I walk out into the foyer.

I open the door. I swear I am ready to tell her where she can put it. No one makes Ashley Davies wait. No one makes Ashley Davies wish she was someone else, somewhere else just so she can know if a certain blue eyed sadist is alright. "I'm really sorry I am late." And there she is standing in front of me in a t-shirt and jeans and her hair held up in a ponytail and I've never seen anything so beautiful in my life.

And I absolutely hate her a little bit for the way that her laser eyes are set on stun and they're always set on my anger. "It's alright, Doc. I kind of just thought you forgot." I was scared you forgot about me.

She shakes her head, hair gently falling out of her makeshift ponytail. If you plan on making it through this diner with your dignity, Davies, I'd suggest closing your open mouth and maybe diverting your eyes a little. "I was helping this boy out at the shelter and I lost track of time."Oh, right, the secret identity thing. I almost forgot.

And how do I compete with small homeless children? While we both have the cute factor going for us currently, which is new to me because I usually have the dead sexy vibe going for me, but they have more of the awe I want to take you home with me vibe, and, at the moment, I have the awe, you're kind of pathetic vibe. "Oh, we could have cancelled." I miss it when people wanted to go home with me. Scratch that, because they still try to go home with me, I miss it when I could take them home with me.

"Never." Take that small homeless children. "Plus it's not every day I get to eat dinner alone with a rock star."It's not every day that I actually eat dinner on a Saturday. "I hear you're famous." Now she catches on. Way to be slow on the uptake, Doc.

Whatever, I'm pleased. And regardless of popular opinion, it does take effort to please Ashley Davies. "It's about time you noticed." Better late than never. You do know she's playing at you, right, Davies? Shut up and let me revel. "Well, as long as you're here now." I take her coat from her hands, the coat she isn't wearing, the coat I have no idea why she has and I hang it in the hall closet. "Dinner's ready." I begin to walk down the foyer to the entrance of the dining room. Dinner so better be on that table or I am not speaking to Charles until Tuesday. Because I have to talk to him on Tuesday. I have no idea where my signing is taking place.

"Smells delicious." That's my boy. I should send him a fruit basket or something. I wonder if he'll take offense. "Do you cook?" Would that impress you, Doc?

"I haven't since I could afford someone to do it for me." I barely know where the kitchen is in this place. I think I've been there all of fives times since I bought it five years ago. See, once a year. I think it's impressive. "And unless you consider being amazing with a can opener and a microwave not before then either." I could school anyone in the can opening field. If only they'd make that an Olympic sport. I believe it would be more interesting than watching curling. Just saying.

"Well, it's a good thing you can make almost anything in a microwave nowadays." Yeah, even chocolate cake. What's with that? Add water and microwave? It just seems kind of fishy to me. We make it to the dining room. She's not walking into the room. Damnit. Breathe, breathe, I thought we covered this earlier and you decided that a tape with a mantra was unneeded. Don't go back on that now.

"It's too much isn't it?" Don't you dare do that toe digging thing you do, Davies, she can sense weakness. It's part of her powers. "I knew I should have laid off the candles." I knew I shouldn't take decorating advice from chubby bartenders at one in the morning. "You should always listen to a gay man's decorating advice." Just, stop. "I'm so sorry." I guess that's a little better than that travesty that was happening.

My mouth is covered by her hand. Doc, I can think of a couple of other ways to shut me up. You know, if you ever want any ideas. I even have quite a few that deal with my mouth. She grabs my hand and leads me towards the table. "I love candles." Take that, Charlie. Score one for the woman. We're taking back decorating.

"Oh, well, me too." Just sit down, Davies. I have nothing else to say to you. I sit and she follows, sitting across from me.

"Chicken parmesan?" I knew I should have went with noodles. Who can't smile at noodles? Noodles make everyone happy. They're so versatile.

"I figured I couldn't lose." Much unlike this situation. "Everyone loves chicken, cheese and spaghetti sauce." Watch her be the exception. Just watch.

"And no wine?" She always has to rub it all in, doesn't she? Good thing she doesn't keep emergency bats of salt. I'm scared she'll find all my wounds.

"I thought you cut me off?" And I thought I was the one with blackout issues.

"Ashley, I was kidding." You do not joke about cutting off an alcohol enthusiast's alcohol. That's just cruel. Especially when you obviously know you have the power.

"Oh, right, right. " Fucking sadist. "I knew that, Doc" Just shut up and eat, Davies. You're officially losing at life right now.

"So, it was a boy and a girl." Wow sounds like an amazing start of a great story, that or a porno. However, I'm thinking that it's doubtful that that's where this is going. The higher beings never smile on me that much.

"What?"

"Madison." Scratch porn and put horror flick. Cheap B rated, horror flick. "She named the boy Daniel, after her dad. And she named the girl Paula." Sad eyes? It's not the best name, but, I mean there are worse. I mean she could have named it Mildred or Bertha.

Or, I can so catch onto some things, sometimes. "After your mom?"

"Yeah." I could so be a mind ninja if I wanted to be. "Exactly." But if I was a good one I'd know how to make her smile reach her eyes, I'd be able to make her laugh, I'd be able to reach across the table and hold her hand because I know that's what she needs, but I'm scared of her hands.

I'm scared of when I have to let go. "You want to talk about her?" So I take the coward's way out.

She bits her lips and tilts her head tentatively. Get a grip, Davies. Eventually she smiles and shakes her head at me. "I want to enjoy my chicken and the candles." That's right. She likes the chicken. Another point to team Davies. "Oh, and I guess the company." Or, team Davies can stop breathing. Don't choke, seriously, if she were to give you CPR there is no way you'd make it. Your heart would stop beating.

"Yeah, the company is pretty awesome, isn't she?" She just doesn't feel like it right now. Thanks for that, Doc. It's really all your fault.

"Well, she sure thinks so." You know what you do, Doc, don't pretend. You just want to gloat. You're pretty much evil.

"I am so not alone." The masses still love me, don't they? I need to go on some fan's blog tonight to make me feel better. What? Those things are public. It's like they are begging me to use them to nurse my bruised pride.

"You're right." And back to the reveling. You got to revel when you can. "My nephew is quite the fan." You know, before she takes another fist at your ego. And super powers make really powerful fists, just saying. "He must get it from his aunt." Please, let her be the kid's only aunt.

Play it cool, Davies. Shall I get you a dictionary and highlight the word cool for you? "Oh, so you're a fan now?" I guess it'll do.

She nods, taking a bite of the chicken. Fucking lucky chicken. "I told you, you have a beautiful voice." Not as beautiful as some things.

"I thought music is a distraction." Is it ironic when the biggest distraction I've ever met calls something a distraction? Just wondering.

"Some things are worth it." Will you stop staring at her when she's eating? Seriously, Davies, being jealous of saucy, cheesy, chicken? Do you really want to be that fattening? So what if it gets to be devoured… Shut up, shut up.

Will you say something? "I'm terrible at dinner conversation."Okay, I guess that works. Why don't you just draw attention to your awkward self? Grand idea.

"We had family dinners every night when I was growing up." Sounds likes the Cleavers to me. Does stuff like that really happen anymore? I mean, you don't even really see it on TV, well, on TV when hilarious things don't happen which reminds you that family dinners are disastrous.

"My mom sometimes had the housekeeper sit with me, does that count?" Probably not, because the woman got a free meal out of it, but whatever. At least I knew more about cheating, bastard husbands than any other seven year old I knew. For some reason my teacher didn't like that predicament though.

"What about Kyla?" Would you want to eat every night with Ms. I think my voice can make flowers bloom?

"When she finally came around, we were both too busy with our own lives to sit down and eat with each other." Translation: I was too busy getting high and drunk with my sleaze of a girlfriend, and Kyla was just too, well, she was like the sun to hung-over eyes. You get the picture.

"And what about dates?" What dates? Dates are so nineties. No one does dates anymore. Right?

"You're supposed to bring dates to dinner?" I'm only half joking.

She's laughing. Good, because, I'd think the food poisoned her or something if she didn't laugh at me at least once this dinner. "You're starting to sound like Aiden." She so deserves to be poisoned.

"No need for insults." Or for mental abuse in the highest degree.

"Don't worry." Don't worry? I'm going to book an IQ test in the morning. "Aiden hasn't lit a candle in eight years." That's because one too many random balls to the head; he can't remember how.

"That's because he's not allowed to play with fire." Just saying, I wouldn't be the first one to trust him with a lighter. Someone may teach him how to turn the flame up. Thumbs are flammable you know.

"Can we not talk about him?" Am I going crazy, or weren't you the one that brought him up, Doc?

Change the subject, Davies. Talk about yourself. You've always been good at that. "I got that movie deal."

She laughs. Hey, they must not think it's funny. I hear seven digits are kind of serious, and all that. "You think your big head will fit on the big screen?" You think she really thinks my head is big? Sometimes I think my neck might be a little too small for my head, but I mean it's really only at certain angles.

Tonight I really am suffocating you. Maybe a lack of oxygen to your brain will bring back your senses. You need it. "Psh, nothing on this body is big." Much better.

"I can't wait to see it." Even better.

"We start filming next week." It works because I haven't been sleeping lately anyways. Might as well have a reason to be up at five in the morning humming Bellamy Brother's songs.

"So have you decided if you're a good girl gone bad yet?" Lately I've been feeling like the awesome girl gone pathetic, does that count? They generally don't make movies about that though. Yeah they do, they're called…shut up, shut up.

Whatever, she's the shrink isn't she? Still haven't checked the diplomas. "Can you remind me what I am paying you for again?"

"You're not paying me right now." Smartass.

"You're insufferable."Because I never thought this table was too big before until you had to sit across it from me. And I never thought the lighting in here was too dim until I couldn't precisely make out the wave of light freckles on your face. And I never cared that the house was naturally drafty until I noticed the goose bumps on your arms. And now you have me thinking ridiculous things like that. You make me want to hit myself in the face. And that seems unpleasant, just saying.

"So, why'd you ask me to diner then?" Because there was no way I was going to make it until Monday without seeing you. And this seemed more normal than showing up at your house randomly at odd hours at night. Especially because you live with inanimate objects and mythical creatures, who no one wants to see at odd hours at night.

Well, you can't say that out loud, Davies. So think of something else. Or just, look like a fool, you've been doing a great job of that for the last week. "I can't have a friend of mine being boring on a Saturday night."

What? Look at that smile on her face. Ugh, isn't there a song somewhere that said everyone needs friends, or something? You should always listen to music. "I thought we couldn't be friends?" There are also songs out there that call ducks your fine feathered friends. Just saying.

"Shut up, Doc." Seriously. "Must you always push?" Of course she must. I wouldn't be surprised if she didn't have a pool with all her other mind ninjas on how long it takes for me to break. Break what? I'm not sure exactly.

Oh no, the head tilt is in place. She's aiming at me. Do you think she knows she can kill me with that? "Can we dance?"

"Wait, what?" Yeah, I bet you wish we would have made that tape now. Breathe, breathe.

"Well, there's a lot of space and there's a stereo." She points to my stereo cabinet in the corner. I knew I should have opted for the one with the doors that closed. I wouldn't be having this tongue tied problem right now.

"You want to dance with me?" Regain composure, quickly.

She is standing above me. When did she stand? I knew I should have invested in anti-teleporting wards around my house. I wonder if they make those. She's grabbing my hand. Stupid hand, don't give in. Oh, you gave in. Weak. You are so weak. "Please?" Do not, do not, look at those eyes.

"Right now?" You looked. You masochist. She nods. Oh man, the lip bite and the head tilt, and, ugh, just give in, you know you are going to, like you could deny those eyes anything. "Whatever you want, Doc." Pansy.

She drags me by my weak hand; did I mention that you are weak, hand? Is it healthy to blame a predicament on one of your limbs? See, and look what you did, she's released you. Now, the entire body has to suffer, noticing how much the draft in here is quite chilly. Way to ruin it for the team. She is kneeling and looking through my CD cabinet. I love that cabinet. Though, I would love it much better if its twin had a door. Just saying. "You have Stephan Speaks?" Great, and you don't even hide the sappy stuff, Davies. Why don't you just tell Maxim magazine next week about your comic book collection and stuffed monkey?

She stands, and starts to play around with the CD player. "Yeah, well, he's a nice guy." I really hope it's just one guy.

Her giggles tell me I am so wrong. As always. How did she figure that contraption out so quickly? I've had it for a year and it still takes me ten minutes to get a CD in it. Another obvious example of her higher karma level. "I absolutely love this song." Number six. Really? Seriously? The world is laughing at me because I can't move. Cannot move at all. There must have been poison in that food, just in the wrong plate.

"This is a slow song." Seriously? You're lucky you can't move because you need to go hit your head against something hard.

She is laughing, I think. There's a slight humming in my ear. Doesn't that usually mean you are going to pass out? Please, God, let that be what it means, before I make more of a fool of myself. Because I am about to lose control of my legs, and I'd like to be completely out of it when that happens, because She has both my hands in her hands now. Yeah, like I said, should have done the tape. "I don't bite, Ash, I promise." Trust me, Doc, you can't promise what I need for you to promise.

"Trust me, Doc, that's not what I'm afraid of." I'm afraid that I won't be able to hold anyone else this close again without seeing the ocean and I'm afraid that I won't be able to let go of you at all and I'm afraid that you're the only everything I'll ever meet in my life and I'm afraid, I'm just afraid. Even more so now as her arms have snuck their way around my neck and my neck as never felt so raw, so ravished, just by sensitive touch. "I mean, uhm, biting doesn't bother me." Don't even try; you've completely lost this one.

"Ash." And my heart is going to implode. It's just been waiting for a reason like right now.

Just, say anything. Anything. "Yeah, Doc?" That works.

"Are you going to dance with me?" Well, maybe, if my legs will work. I think they are essential in the dancing thing.

Remember when you were suave? Yeah, try to remember that. "If I must." Good try, I guess. I miraculously put my arms around her waist. Too bad my legs are still numb.

"Oh, you must." Avoid eye contact and try to work on moving feet. You look like a bumbling idiot. "Ash?" And see, look, she noticed. It's hard not to miss it when you look like you're at your first jr. high dance.

Play it cool. "Yeah, Doc?"

"I don't have cooties." Could you not have clothes, too? She is lowering her hands from my neck to my back and leaving liquid warmth in their wake. I wonder if they sell liquid warmth. I guess the closest is icy hot. Is this really a time to be pondering that, as the girl of your dreams pulls you closer to her body? Yeah, I'd say not. Wait, wait, closer to her body? I swear I will break you, knees, if you go out on me now.

"Oh, yeah, I know." Lame. You would have been better off not speaking at all. Stop acting like a damn fifteen year old virgin, Davies.

She's laughing at me, and I'd get aggravated, if she wasn't so close that I can feel her body pulsating against mine. Laugh all you want, Doc. "Is it really that miserable?"

"What?" If this is miserable I never want to be happy again. I pull her closer. I pull her closer because I want her to know that this is the farthest thing from miserable I've ever been and I pull her closer because I need to, I need to feel everything in a tiny, lithe body.

She shakes her head but instead of words she lays it on my shoulder. We've covered this, so not public property. I'll get signs in the morning. I'll get signs after this. "Nothing at all." Or absolutely everything. "Will you sing?" Would it ruin the mood if I told her that that'll cost a pretty penny? It's in my contract.

"I'll ruin the song, Doc." I'm scared my air won't last long enough to sing.

"That's impossible." Stupid mind reading eyes with your stupid power over me.

Why does she always get what she wants? In the morning, I'm looking up ways of developing super powers. "All the times I have sat and stared, as she thoughtfully thumbs through her hair, and she purses her lips, bats her eyes as she plays, with me sitting there slack-jawed and nothing to say cause I..." Definitely need to stop singing now. I need to stop all of this now. "We have to stop." And she has to know it right? Our legs have stopped moving, but I can't get my arms to move. They obviously have different plans. They just don't understand that she's not theirs to hold, and this is what I was afraid of.

But I guess she didn't know. "Stop what?" And I guess she doesn't have the same problem as me because as her head tilts in question she drops her hands from my back. Move your hands, Davies. Seriously, please.

"Um, dancing. We needed to stop dancing." Great, glued hands and a stumbling mouth. Why don't you just trip right over her too?

It be a lot easier. This would all be a lot easier. If she wasn't smiling at me. Smiling me in a way that I can pretend like she'd smile at me in the morning when she woke up holding something that might be everything to her too. I could pretend that. I could pretend that if it wasn't the same smile she's always given me. "We have stopped dancing."

Do something. "Right, I have a headache." You know, excuses would be swell after you move away from the situation. That's generally when normal human beings use them.

"You going to be okay?" Probably not, Doc, but thanks for asking.

"I'm trying." I'm trying to remember that white powders make me smile and hot bodies make me wet and that I don't need you. And I am trying to convince myself that the answer to your question isn't 'as long as you are,' even if that is the answer. And now I am trying, trying so hard not to remember about multiple doctor's appointments, but with you, here in my arms, though you aren't really here at all, it's so much more real.

"Ash." And more real every time you say my name.

"Yeah, Doc?" Because I haven't really been able to form more words than that for awhile.

"Your arms are still around me." Tell them about it, I obviously lot control of my own body awhile ago. I may as well be a floating brain. Well, I guess the body helps with the whole not hideous thing. It is a plus.

"Right, sorry." Don't apologize, remove yourself. I'm putting your picture in the dictionary under pathetic, in the morning.

She's laughing too bad I'm too distracted to care. But I notice when she unlinks my hands from her waist and grabs them, pulling me through my own house with more purpose than I've ever had in it. And she's found the living room, the room that Charles and I had occupied hours before, and she nearly pushes me onto my tan, plush couch. Which would excite me, but I've done the whole couch thing with her before, because she's sitting in her fashion facing me, but this time her knees are touching my thighs, and I'm more aware of it than I ever have been before. Must be because I don't have to worry about Hank watching. Man, I miss that crafty couch. I wonder if I can buy him off of her.

Say something, anything, just don't stutter. "How do you know my house so well?" Well, I guess it wasn't stuttering. Good job. First step back towards self acceptance.

She's shrugging. If you stare at her shoulders, I'll gouge your eyes out. Drastic means must be taken at this point. You're a drooling mess. "It reminds me of you."

You know, I called Madison a house. I don't know how to take this. "It's huge."

"Like your ego." Only when it has reasons to be. It's not my fault you're the only one that doesn't think I'm awesome. It is my fault that you're the only one that matters.

"Not around you." A little too much honesty, Davies. Didn't I tell you that she can smell fear? Well, you reek of it.

"Tell me something about yourself." Psh, not without Hank here for moral support. And like you said, I'm not paying you right now.

"Save it for the office, Doc." Save it all for tomorrow, or whenever, just not now. I can't do much right now.

"I'm not asking as your psychiatrist."Asking as a mind ninja is so the same thing, Doc. Really.

"I don't know, Doc." There's really nothing I can tell you, Doc, because there is only one thing on my mind, and I don't think you want to talk about it.

"When I was real young I wanted to be a photographer."Do people with photographic memories need cameras? It would seem the concept would be lost on them a little.

"I wanted to be a garbage man." You should have seen my mom's face when walked in on a three year old me playing in the kitchen garbage can. She didn't pick me up for a week. "My mom wasn't pleased." I think she still pales at the word garbage.

She laughs, and I don't mind. "I can't see you anywhere near garbage." That's because I like to keep my hands clean.

"I work with it every day." Back up dancers, really. Have you seen Kevin Federline lately? Yeah, now imagine twenty or so of those running around.

"So, in a way, you got your dream." Such an optimist. Too bad I'm never getting anywhere near my dream lately.

"If you want to look at it that way."

"I fell out of a tree and broke my arm in sixth grade." Stupid tree.

I point to my two front teeth. "I cracked these two teeth falling on my rollerblades in eighth grade." But, boy, did I look awesome doing it. Not so awesome crying when I got home, but before that, I made those boys eat my wheels.

"I jumped off my roof in Ohio into a snow drift and broke my ankle." I'm seeing a trend in the heights thing. She must never have learned how to fly. It's the remorse showing.

"When I was seven I dropped a pickle jar on my foot. I got three stitches." And I smelled like pickles for two weeks. Who knew pickle scent lasted so long. I haven't been able to look at one the same way since.

"I bet you threatened those glass pieces afterwards." Aw, she's noticed my unhealthy habit of threatening everything and everyone.

"They deserved it." No one cuts, Ashley Davies, or something along those lines.

"My mom wanted me to be a surgeon. Sometimes, I feel like I'm letting her down."

"Sometimes, I call my mom just to see if she'll pick up for me, and if she does I don't say anything."

"I get upset at myself because I still resent my dad for his alcoholism."

"I think sometimes I drink too much."

"I'm scared I only volunteer to make myself feel better."

"I'm reading all your books for a second time."

"I've been falling asleep to your music for years." And I'm going to be falling asleep to your face for the rest of my life.

The only thing I can remember being scared of is multiple doctor's appointments and I would get in a million elevators stuck on the top floor of the Sears Tower if it would make this all better. "I think I'm in love with you."

Silence. "Ashley, don't." Don't what? Don't look at you? Because I've tried that and I've just ended up closing my eyes and imagining. Don't listen to you? Because I've tried that and your voice follows me like my oxygen. Don't think about you? Because to my stupid, sappy mind you've replaced every one of those diminishing stars in the sky, the ones you were looking at that one night. The night I knew.

"Doc, I –"

But she doesn't let me finish, which is actually a good thing because I don't know what I was going to say and it's a safe bet there was going to be a multitude of stuttering. What isn't a good thing is that she is standing now, and my thigh already feels wretchedly cold, and I can see her eyeing the exit like her livelihood depends on it. "I've got to go." And it just might. Because I've never seen her walk so fast. And I've never felt my stomach sink so low.

And I hear the front door opening. And I don't know when I learned how to teleport, maybe she's more contagious than I thought, but I am at the front door now. Her jacket, she forgot her jacket. It's not pathetic if you run after them for a reason, right? This jacket could be important. She might need it to recharge at night, or something. Superheroes recharge, don't they? I walk out into the chilly December air and wonder how she could have ever forgotten a jacket with this cold. "Doc!"

She's about to open her car door and she doesn't turn when I call out to her, but she does stop. "I really have to get home, Ashley." It's funny that I can't stop my legs now. They pull me closer to her. "Thank you for dinner." She knows how close I am now because her voice has softened and I almost have to strain to hear it over the angry wind.

Now would be a good time for words. "You forgot your jacket." Well, I meant good words, important words, but I guess that'll do.

She turns to face me and I see the tears. And now I know what the air does when she cries. The air disappears, everything disappears, and it's just you, in the cold vacuum, suffocating, looking through it trying to get to her as the tears slowly stain her perfect face, slowly consuming her. I barely feel it as she takes the jacket from my hands. "Thank you." And I can't help myself as I wipe a tear off her face before it has a chance to mix with the dirty driveway. "Please don't."

"I'm sorry." But I'm beginning to forget what I am sorry for.

She turns towards the door again. "I'll see you Monday."

I hear the door chime as she opens the door. And what if there's no time left? What if Monday doesn't come? What if I really never have a chance? What if. And I place my hand on her shoulder, and I know she won't turn around for me right now. "I am in love with you, Spencer." Because it is the only thing I know right now. It's the only thing that makes sense. It's the only words that could come out of my mouth, and they are absolutely the only words that matter.

But then I feel her turn, and then I feel tears going down my face, but they aren't my tears yet, and then I feel it, I feel warm and cold and so alive but I don't know how I could be alive at all and I feel like I could scream but really all that is needed here is silence, because I feel her lips on mine. But before I have time to reciprocate, before I have time to regain the ability of thought, of speech, of understanding, she's in her car, and she's gone. But this, this unbelievable feeling of falling isn't gone at all, no it's here as I fall to my knees in my own driveway and as I begin to cry.


	18. Handle with Care

**Session Nine:** Handle with Care

So, I've been sitting in this waiting room for forty minutes. I've learned that dinosaurs do name their young. Who knew? And the one I'm sharing this room with is named Skyla Barker, which I personally think sounds nothing like a dinosaur's name, but that's completely her problem. I've learned that the doc does in fact have a laughing problem because I could hear that laugh through any closed door. I've learned that the UPS guy is a klutz and apparently a fan, but his rendition of Leap of Faith was lacking, especially after I told him that it isn't in fact my song.

I've learned a lot in these last two days. For example, chocolate has endorphins that make you feel good; the effect is doubled with chocolate liquors. Tears can actually make pools and not just in emo songs. You just have to cry for a long time and not move. It really is impossible to smoke a joint if you refuse to light the end of it. I've learned that sadists don't answer their phones when all the caller needs is to hear their voice. Oh, and Lifetime movies really are just that atrocious.

However, I am not sharing any of this sacred knowledge with Fossil over there. Nope, I am immersed in a conversation about laundry detergent. And I learn another thing, I am internally grateful that I do not have to do laundry. This would be more bearable if I had brought a friend. You know what they say, everything is more fun with a friend. Which is so untrue. I can think of a few things I wouldn't want anyone or anything else involved in, but this, this is not one of them.

And it just so happens, as I am about to learn what happens when you put the fabric softener in too early, which I really hope isn't that is causes a massive explosion in case I ever do have to do the laundry because I'll never know now, both of the doors in the room open. In my fantasies, this could be a good thing. For example, the doc enters from one and a telegram from the rock comes for the other one saying he's gone to the jungles of Madagascar looking for his primate relatives. However, as we've probably already covered, my fantasies have not been so forthcoming lately, and while the doc is in one entranceway, a snake is in the other. So the opposite of fantasy. I'd say nightmare. But not the normal nightmare. You know, the ones that are so bad that your eyelids are scared closed. Those ones.

"Ashley!" Oh, and the hot redhead. How could I forget the hot redhead?

And to think there was a time in my life I'd tell you there would never be a time I'd be bothered being surrounded by three beautiful woman. I lied. It was a boldface lie. I want to go back in time and punch myself in the face then. That's how much of a lie that was. And I love my face, a lot.

Focus on the one that doesn't know how to eat your insides, metaphorically in one case not so much in the other. "Hey," I say with a slight wave to the redhead. You know, it's amazing you still have fans, Davies.

The redhead sits heavily on the couch next to me. It's no wonder Hank likes me best. She weighs all of ninety pounds; there's absolutely no need for heavy sitting. She's a couch abuser. "I'm Katie." Why are all the nameless girls in the world disappearing? I do recall I like them better that way. And for a reason. Don't look at her, Davies, just don't. "I think I forgot to tell you that last time." It's alright. I forgot to tell you I wasn't interested last time. "Katie O'Halloran." The Irish have a serious fetish with the letter 'o.' It's a little disconcerting to me.

The doc clears her throat. Again, don't look up, Davies. I just got that damn song out of my head and if you look up you'll go back to moments that aren't right to go back to and we'll have to go through this process again for the hundredth time. "I'll see you Friday, Ms. O'Halloran."

Ms. O'Halloran is not moving. Nope, just staring intently at me. I wouldn't complain much, but I feel bad. Ms. O'Halloran must have never been bitten by a snake or mauled by a hyena, or maybe she's just slow. One of them has superpowers and I'm sure the other one's poisonous. "I think she asked you to leave, Ms. O'Halloran." You think I can leave with her? When they work together I'd pretty much rather be with any other duo, and that includes The Carpenters.

Redhead sure has more guts than I have. I'm shaking in my figurative boots. Figurative because boots are way out of style. She still isn't moving. Someone should get her a medal. But then again, she won't live to see it. No use giving a medal then. "Oh, Spencer, don't hog Ashley." Yeah, Doc, don't hog me. I can think of a plethora of other things I can tell you not to do to me. Too bad the list of things I want you to do to me is much longer.

Look at those fangs. "Dr. Carlin and I have to meet with Ashley now, you can go." Meet with me? Didn't the old mobsters say that before they off-ed someone?

But she's the only one in here but me that isn't affiliated with an animal. You can't take her away. I swear it's not because I need witnesses. You can't have witnesses at a murder. Maybe I should give her an animals name? Foxes are red. But Foxes are kind of related to hyenas, and she so isn't on the same level as that. Maybe a cardinal? But, I think only the males are red. "Can I go with her?" Really, I think it's for the best.

"No." Way to ruin my life, again, Doc. Why don't you just go back in time and run me over with your car too? What? Too spiteful?

She reaches into her back pocket, I like where this is going, and hands me a tiny card. "Call me sometime, Ashley." What's with this card thing? Is this the new thing? And if so why did nobody tell me? Though, I can see why Charles wouldn't tell me. I can definitely see myself getting drunk and throwing them all over the dance floor for everyone. I guess they'd call that asking for stalkers.

I take the card and smile at her. Too bad I know that she could never have any piece of me because every piece of me has been stolen and is wrapped up in those squinting blue eyes aiming sharply at the poor girl. I guess no one told her that you just do what the doc says or lasers get involved. Way to ruin my life and my fun, Doc. "Bye, Kate." She winks and she's gone. People sure leave quickly lately. "And what's bringing Freud and Breuer back together again?" That's right Davies, play it cool. Be the bear. Be the bear. You are so not a bear.

"Dr. Carlin didn't tell you?" Nope, pretty sure I would have picked up on the words emotional execution. I shake my head in the negative. "Judge Brown requested I sit in on a session and she said this one would be fine." Wait, you're kidding right? I guess the doc took Diversion 101 with me too. I bet super geniuses are amazing at every class they take. She takes the cake in this one though. "I thought she'd at least discuss it with you." Yeah, well, I guess she'd have to answer her phone to tell me that, and obviously she couldn't go against her sadistic nature. "I mean, that would be the right thing to do." Hey, wait, she may be insufferable but only I can comment on her insufferable attributes. I practically have a contract that says so. One that she so unwittingly signed with her lips.

Ugh, this is why she's a snake. "I must have forgotten." Because she makes me defend my contracts even if I am so mad at them that I happened to throw away a certain pair of very expensive, one of a kind, yellow Choos because they reminded me so much of said contract and I so wish I could break it but I can't, I absolutely can't, because it's written in the most permanent ink I can think of in the most hidden of places. "Not like it was important." Written with silent eyes and ocean waters and written into my heart, and I can't really function without my heart. I think. I've been trying lately and it hasn't worked all that well.

But I still refuse to look at her. She so doesn't deserve wanting eyes. I'll just pretend like it's hurting her as much as it's hurting me. "Am I sensing some trouble in paradise?" I wonder if I can pretend like she isn't here. I wonder if I can pretend like I'm not here.

"Let's take this into my office." I would run but I'd never leave Hank alone with these two. He's too weak, he wouldn't survive. At least this way we can go down together. My demise is pretty much undeniable at this point. Might as well go out in style.

I trail behind them and lay down on Hank. It's just me and Hank this time. They can fend for themselves. Make the snake sit on the floor. She's use to the ground. Don't stand over me; it never leads to good things. "Are you comfortable?" I'd be much more comfortable if you weren't stealing my air. But thanks for asking.

I point to Hank. "We're bonding." Obviously. Maybe you two should leave, alone time is necessary in every relationship.

"Well, one of us needs to sit there." Well, I need to protect Hank from the both of you. He's sensitive you know. "Move over." I'm scared to say over my dead body at this point, I'm sure they could have it arranged.

"I'll sit with Ashley." And again the doc is teleporting over me. You would think that she'd try to at least try to conceal her identify in front of what's her name, she can't be trusted. "You can take my chair." I hope you wash it after, Doc, I'm pretty sure her poison can absorb through skin.

And hey, who said I was moving at all? And who said I'd want you next to me, Doc? You didn't want to be next to me when it actually counted. Plus, I'm comfortable. "No, it's fine." Wait, are they actually going to wrestle this time?

Maybe if I pretend like I am sleeping they'll forget I'm here and they'll mind ninja each other. They really don't need me at this point. And I'm good at pretending that I only need Hank. "Dr. Whitman, I'd feel better if I could conduct my session like I have been." Yeah, well, you should have thought about doing that about two thousand fifty minutes ago. Not that I'm counting.

"Of course, Dr. Carlin." I feel like I keep missing out on some serious mental wrestling. Seriously, I think you must have to go to college to appreciate this over physical wrestling. Or maybe just not be sexual deprived as I am. Not quite sure.

"Who said anyone was sitting with me?" Because I do believe that I did not. And I'm pretty sure if they move my legs without my consent it's some type of federal offense. And if not. It should be.

I think there's amusement in her voice, I only think because I am so barely listening to her. Or trying not to. I'm trying to start a new trend, hopefully it'll catch on. "It is my couch." See, wasn't worth listening to. Everyone knows Hank belongs to no one.

And Bugs Moran over there talking to me about ownership? "I can think of a few things I've mine you've taken." Starting with my shoes, then my sanity, then my organs, then, well, you get the picture. Psh, talk to me about ownership.

"Oh, like what?" Snake is perched in the doc's chair already. Oh come on, I was so okay with you slithering on the floor, not her doing, whatever it is hyenas do, on the floor.

Fine, whatever. I'll sit up, but I'm not going to like it. Not going to like it at all. I'm just going to sit here and stare at that disgustingly white wall with that tacky art on it. That's what I am going to do. "She ate my last M&M or something." Which really would be terrible, especially if it was a red one. I like the red ones. I don't care what people say. There is a different taste. Just to the red ones though.

The Doc sits, and this time she is facing me in her fashion, but her knee is nowhere near my thigh, and again my thigh realizes how increasingly cold it is in this decrepit building. "Yeah." And if that snake doesn't stop smirking in my direction, I'll…what kinds of animals eat snakes? Yeah, I'll get one of those. I hope they make good pets. "So how was your weekend?" Well, only three hours of my weekend actually mattered, and I'm beginning to wonder if they even really happened at all.

I look over to the doc who seems to have found great interest in her hands. I guess, I can't actually blame her. I find her hands pretty interesting as well. Shut up, Davies. The point of the matter is she's not making eye contact with you. Stay on track. "I had a date." What? No reaction at all? Ugh, fine. Maybe you sent a borg person in your place or something.

"You don't do dates." What's with the quotation hands around the word do? What's with people who actually do that? I think it's a clear sign of: I need to feel smart so I'll do ridiculous things that seems intelligent but really it just makes people laugh at me behind my back because they don't want to laugh at me to my face because they're scared I'm also mentally instable. Or something like that.

"Yeah, well." Damnit. I really don't do dates. And she knows it. She knows it because I always opted to laying in a car to a dinner or laying in bed to a movie. Make an excuse, make one now. "I made an exception." That's not an excuse, you idiot. That's just asking for it. You almost deserve whatever is to come. I am getting you a dictionary for Christmas.

"And what did you do on this date?" What is this? I hope I don't have to pay her too. If I do silence over there can pay her, or something. I didn't ask for this. I guess this is what happens when diversion tactics go wrong. The unlucky in the room suffer. You want to take a wild guess on who that is?

There was cars driving down a large driveway, faster than any car has ever driven down it. "There was dinner." That I don't think I tasted really. My eyes were too busy feasting for my brain to bother what was going on with my mouth. "And dancing." No, there was you looking like a fool with your overzealous, over telling hands. "And talking." You putting your foot in your mouth.

"And?" Well, there was repetitive kicks in my metaphorical gut. But I don't think we are talking metaphorically right now.

"And what?" I never get what these people want from me.

"I assume there's more." Yeah, I wish. You and my daydreams should talk, Snake. You two can swap ideas.

I look at sadist on my left. Wow, her hands are more interesting than I thought, and trust me, I find them very interesting. Remember, she kissed you, Davies. But what if it was the kiss of death or what if she really did need that jacket to recharge and because she didn't have it she had to kiss me and steal all my air to sustain her super aura? Could be. Or maybe I just imaged the whole thing. "No, she had to go home." Must have had to, she didn't even have time to back up and run over my crying form.

"And would you consider it a good date?" Who doesn't love handing someone their heart, who obviously has very slippery fingers. Stupid fingers. It's not like there was a no return policy or anything, or there wasn't until she used the product. You kiss it, you keep it. I know, I know. Almost as annoying as BYOB signs in restaurant windows.

I hope her fingers don't take offense. I mean, I still admire them. Hell, I probably admire them more when slippery. Someone is asking you a question, Davies, can you try not to get hot and bothered. I'm sure Hank wouldn't appreciate it all that much. "Don't have much to base it off of." Obviously.

She nods. Have I mentioned I hate the shrink, 'I am pretending that I understand but really I'm watching dollar signs float across my eyes', nod? Okay, so it might not be dollar signs in this case, because I am so not paying her, but it's better than currency, it's the act of making me squirm. She loves it. In every way you can make me squirm. "And how did you feel when she left?"

Well, you know that feeling when your heart has been freeze dried and then rabid, angry dogs try to eat at it? Yeah, it's like that. "I thought you quit being my self-help guru?" Who knew that when people say 'I never want to see you again', they really mean 'I'm going to stalk you when you go to your next mind guru'. See, learning a lot of knew things lately.

"I see you still avoid difficulties." Hey, wait, aren't difficulties supposed to be avoided? Isn't that a bumper sticker or something?

I look at Spencer who must have secretly written her new novel on her hands at this point and then at my last biggest mistake sitting, watching me intently. Maybe I should move, or something. LA so isn't nice to me. "Yeah, I guess I learn it from the people around me." It never really was.

"And was she special this time?" Now that you mentioned it, special doesn't begin to describe it, because special has a definition, and I don't think definitions would do it justice.

"I'm pretty sure she's a super hero." Not pretty sure, I've been collecting evidence for over a month now, and it's staggering. I could so convince the American public, but I kind of want to keep it to myself. For always.

"I take it you haven't slept with her yet." Slept with? I couldn't even breathe when she kissed me.

Hey, wait. "What's that supposed to mean?" She doesn't know it's super powers over here, who is obviously impenetrable to any charm, ever. I'm not a bad catch. Hey, she even slept with me.

"Well, that's when she becomes another number, right?" A number? For your information, I do not have a count. And you might be right if you say it's because I lost count, but I don't think that's really the essence of the matter here. The fact is. There is no count. So there. And it doesn't matter because the doc isn't on the same level as those numbers. What did they teach you in math? You can't add two unalike terms. "You like what you can't have." That's not true, probably. I mean, think about it. I can get almost anything I want, and I like a lot of things. Common sense prevails. Right?

"Shut up, Brenda." That's right. Be the bear. "You don't have any idea about this." About her. And I probably never will, so you really never will.

"Dr. Carlin, do you have an opinion?" Don't make eye contact, don't do it. You did it. And to think, I was jealous of her fingers before. Damnit, and damn her. And damn this entire situation. Damn me, because I would give anything if those eyes would talk to me, if they could tell me how it is that they reflect more blue than the atmosphere ever could and how is it that they write more beautiful songs than I ever will without a voice. And I'd be so jealous of those eyes, if they weren't the only things ever worth looking at. "A professional opinion." Yeah, you try getting an unprofessional opinion out of her. It's like having a five year old play at your heart strings like one of those makeshift xylophones. God, I loved those, but the shape mine was in is testimony, just saying.

Laser eyes. I love me some laser eyes. Only when not pointed at me. What? You know a love of lasers is healthy. "I thought I informed you, Dr. Whitman, that I will not be part of any jealous tirades." I learned something like this in avoidance 101. "And Ashley's my patient." Patient? Who are you calling your patient, Doc?

"I'm sorry, Dr. Carlin, continue with your session." Yeah Doc, continue. Too bad you have to begin to continue.

And don't look at me. It's a lot easier to be mad at you when you're not looking at me. Patient is kind of a far leap away from friend, or someone you may randomly kiss on their driveways, just saying. "Do you feel you know what you want, Ashley?"

You, Doc, just you. There's nothing more to say to that. "Yeah."

"Well, I think that answers Dr. Whitman's questions." It did? Did someone forget to tell me when my words became that convincing, because that was way too easy?

Maybe part of their plan is to suffocate me with silence? Break it, Davies. Be the bear. "And what did you do this weekend, Doc?" Okay, break it, but with less masochist tendencies. We'll have to work on those.

Are your eyes lasering me? Or looking through me? I don't think I can feel the difference. "I had a doctor's appointment Sunday afternoon." I hope this isn't a test because I always did terribly on tests and I really don't think I can handle failing this class.

Take a deep breath, Davies. You can do this. You have to do this. I nod. "How'd it go?" I'm rewarding you with a non-fat cookie when we get home.

She shrugs. Not the time, Davies. When did you get a fascination with shoulders? It's a little odd. "Fine." What was it that Aiden said about the word fine? Don't think about it. It's just Aiden. There's only so much a rock can be right about in the world. And most of those things are by chance. "I had more fun on Saturday though." I really hope she's talking about me and not the homeless kids, because I so already did a 'in your face' to them, and it's just shameful to have to come back from that.

"And what did you do Saturday, Dr. Carlin?" And when did it become your business, you snake? Though, at times, I do believe that Sadist needs some medication, that doesn't mean that she has of yet enlisted the help of a mind ninja. So back off.

"Well, I gained a new fondness for candles." I forgot to rub that in Charles face, thanks for reminding me, Doc. Would it be redundant and karma traumatizing if I rejoiced on the homeless kids behalf again? "I found a new favorite song." I wonder if it's been playing in her head over and over like it's been doing in mine. But in my head I danced better than a thirteen year old, stuttering boy. "And I learned a lot of interesting things about a friend of mine." I guess friend is better than patient. You're so forgive, Doc.

Stop smiling like an idiot."Sounds good." Sounds good? Sounds amazing. Especially now that I know it wasn't in fact a cyborg.

She smiles and nods. "It was good." In and out, Davies, good. You're going to get so good at this you can teach a lamas class. "Oh, Madison came home with the babies on Sunday." Poor Doc, before she only had to worry about one big demon, now it has a brood.

"And now are the little Duarte demons?" Alliteration is all the rage. All the cool kids do it. Ask Poe.

I can tell you want to laugh, Doc. Especially because you're pretty much addicted to laughter. Whatever, I'll take the smile. The smile will do. "There last name is Carlin." Yeah, but I am so pretending like your genes didn't have to mix with that.

"Madison Duarte?" Heart, you have to keep beating. I'll need to still be alive to operate a much needed shank at this point. Please, just shut up, for once. "Isn't that the one you slept with in high school?" No, not you too, lungs. So this is how it feels when people grab suppressed memories and rip them violently away from layers and layers of repression. It feels cold. So very, fucking, cold. "The one that stopped talking to you." Okay, well, the minute you stop talking about it I can start burying it again, thanks. There's a special place in hell for narks. Just ask Dante.

The doc has found something amazingly interesting in her hands again. Something interesting that I'll probably never, ever, learn about now. Stupid snake, over there, looking at me all expectantly. She knows the answer to that question. She knows it better than anyone else ever has, well, almost everyone. "Yeah, her." No point lying. It's not like I could anyways.

"Dr. Carlin, you live with this woman?" Woman is a little bit of a stretch, don't you think?

Doc's looking pale. Hey, you're not the one that had to touch her. Just saying. And it was a long time ago, Doc. Sophomore year of high school. I was just a kid. I was obviously a blind and stupid kid. "She's married to my brother." Yeah, that would make me pale too.

"What a small world." This is really not the time to get annoyingly, catchy Disney songs in your head, Davies.

"Patient/doctor confidentiality, Dr. Whitman." Though, Disney World sounds amazing right now. They don't say words I don't fully understand there. Just saying, I completely get the meaning of teacups and huge, happy pretzels. Plus, this, right here, pretty far from the happiest place on Earth.

"Spencer, I worry about you." I don't like when they start whipping out the first names. And why does nobody worry about my sanity? This is why I pay them. "She's an amazing liar."Seriously? No one can lie to a mind reader. I believe that's one of those universal truths, or something. Moreover, who would be able to lie to the doc? Who would want to? What? I didn't lie. It just never came up.

Getting a little chalky, Doc. Should have brought your charging jacket, or something. "I don't know what you're talking about." Even I know what she's talking about and that's saying something.

Whatever, they need to stop staring at each other. "Aren't you two here to shrink me, not pretend like I'm not here?" I'd much prefer you both here to off me at this point. I believe that would be a little more bearable at this particular moment.

"I'm just observing." Yeah, I can see that. How about next time you just observe we duck tape your mouth closed? If you're lucky I won't accidently catch your nose with that too.

I feel something hot hit my lap, which in many situations is a good thing, but as I look down I see the doc's head face down on my legs. Now, I know I definitely don't deserve a present right now. "Doc?" Please answer me, Doc. I really don't know if I can do this. I lift her head carefully. Her eyes are closed. No, no, closed are never good, closed never means good things in the movies. "Spencer?" I shake her gently. Come on, Doc, I know she puts me to sleep too, but you got to wake up.

The snake is standing above us, frantic. Don't, don't be frantic. You'll scare her. You'll scare her and then she won't ever open her eyes. "Is she breathing?"

I'll give her my breath if she's not. It wouldn't be much good for me anymore, anyways. But I don't have to I can feel raged, but there, puffs of air on my fingers as I cup her cheek. "Yeah, yeah." Good, at least one of us is breathing. "I can feel it." The snake is headed towards the door. "She's really hot." And she is. She is burning through my skin, and not the regular burn, not the burn that I get every time her skin touches mine, no this burn is piercing, gnawing, cutting through me, as I watch the sweat beads form down her forehead.

"I'm going to go call 911." And she's out the door, and I'm alone, alone holding everything, an everything that's barely here.

I slowly slide off the couch, holding her head still, and I carefully help her crisscrossed body into a comfortable laying position. She needs it. She always likes comfortable. She called me comfortable once, you know. I remain kneeling next to her. "Come on, Doc, you can't do this." I wipe away the sweat that's forming faster now on her brow. "If anyone should have gotten the luxury of unconsciousness in this situation it's me." I run my hand through her hair, her hair that always smells like her, which I always thought smelled like spiced apples, no matter how it really smells. "I know she's evil, but it's not this bad." Don't cry, don't cry. If she wakes up, she's not going to want to see you a blubbery mess.

"You don't get it, Doc." I barely think I do. "You're that thing. That thing that everyone talks about. That thing no one really thinks exists. And they laugh or pretend when other people talk about it because it's a pretty thought but never real. You're that thing that just creeps in one day. That thing that makes you stop your pretending and your laughing and makes you just open your eyes. Open your eyes even though you never knew they were closed. And you see, you see all these things about everything and everyone. And you're that thing that everyone tells you not to let go of. That thing I don't think I ever could." I told you not to cry, Davies. "And I swear, if you wake up and comment on me calling you a thing…" But I have no threat for that, because all I want is for her to wake up.

And I kiss her lifeless lips softly, because even if they aren't mine, they are the only things in this world I ever want to taste, and I owe them, those lips, for all the smiles and laughs they've given me. And I hold her hand, because I know I'm not moving, I couldn't move, my legs wouldn't let me, because they belong to her. My body belongs to an everything, and I never want it back.


	19. Too Short a Time

**Too Short a Time**

One hundred forty seven minutes. That's how long I've been sitting here. Want to know why? They don't let humans pass through that door. They let rocks and bricks and banshees. Not rock stars, though. Not even for four hundred dollars and concert passes. That's all I had on me. They obviously don't understand that my organs are in there and I'm failing fast. It's pretty apparent what is going on here. This hospital is obviously being run by ignorant, pod people. That or Madison's kin. Not much difference.

I'm sick. And not just that sickness you get when you hold a hand and it doesn't hold back, a hand that's usually warm that has turned so cold it's hot to the touch. No, I have motion sickness. Why? Because they weren't putting the doc in that contraption alone. Ambulances can be death traps. I saw it once on Fox's reality channel. And how could I have been sure they weren't going to secretly bring her to a lab and do experiments? They like to do that to super heroes, you know. For all I know, they could have poisoned her to begin with. That, and I started to asphyxiate when they disconnected our hands. What? What if the doc needed to steal air to breathe? I needed to be there to give it to her. You know none of those pervy men, who kept putting their unworthy hands all over her, would.

It turns out paramedics don't like it when you shove them or yell at them. But they cut the doc's shirt, and I know she likes that shirt because I've seen it more than once, and I know she wouldn't like to be shirtless because I've never even seen the small of her back, and they looked. They looked at her when she was shirtless and vulnerable and they ruined something the doc obviously liked, they deserved to be shoved. And then they made her bleed, and you know they had to of done something really wrong because super heroes don't bleed easily. And there were needles involved, and I don't know if she minds needles or not, but they don't know either. They deserved to be yelled at. They really, really deserved it.

And then I puked. But I waited until they took the doc away because you just don't puke in front of sleeping beauties. They could wake up and they deserve to open their eyes to fantasies and walking dreams, not the smell of vomit and dying flowers and sterile white. She deserves so much more than this. And I can't give it to her.

And then the trio of things I usually hate, but had no energy to make fun of, showed up, but they barely looked at me because they were allowed through the doors that would lead to a door that holds an everything. Friends don't get through those doors. People who are randomly kissed in driveways don't get through these doors. And no matter how many times I threw a powerful word like love at the doctor, he just didn't care.

"Why are you here?" I liked big as a house version of Madison much better. But, the upside is I can definitely shank her now with no remorse. And how the hell did she get out those doors without me noticing? I've barely blinked in the last one hundred sixty eight minutes. In some stories, can't the blood suckers turn into mist? That must be it.

"Why do you think?" Forgot, she doesn't think. "Same reason you are." Unfortunately. Damnit, I can't even get a scowl out. This is a first. These are the kinds of things you really need friends for. A shot would go perfect here.

She shakes her head and takes a seat a few chairs down from me. Good, I don't have to worry about accidental contamination. "Your best friend isn't in there." She points towards the doors, my newest advisory. Shows how much she knows.

Only friend generally gets the default position of best friend. And even then it's doubtful the doc could not be first in anything or to anyone. I'd imagine that people with laser eyes don't wait in many lines. "I was there." Good, make yourself sound like a tourist or one of those fucks that always have to write on the bathroom stall. God, I hate those people. "I road here with her." Better. And it's a good thing I was. Snakes eat the paralyzed and paramedics have grabby hands.

"I should have figured you where just a patient." But patients aren't called friends and patients aren't called at two in the morning and patients aren't allowed to hold an everything as she sleeps and patients don't get kissed on driveways. Right?

I shrug; though, because who am I to know? Like I'll ever understand mind reading gazes. I just hope I have another chance to pretend. "How is she?"

"She'll be okay." And I can breathe again. Suppress urge to hug Madison. You will catch something. That is effectively the only important thing Madison has ever said. "She hasn't woken up yet, though." I can understand why. Why wake up when you'll just be forced to interpret rock and brick's interpretation of the English language?

Ugh, I guess she helped me out. But I really don't want to humiliate myself by thanking an evil creature. Plus, that as to lower karma somehow. That's the last thing I need. I may as well give her a heads up. "So." You can do it, Davies, the memory will only freeze you for a second and then we can cover it again with pretty blankets of suppression. "Spencer knows we slept together." Don't gag, Davies. Your stomach can only take one incident a day.

"She's known that for awhile." Wait, wait, what happened to, 'never speak of this'? Which, by the way, made me feel like I was in a spotty spy movie. But not as an awesome character, which made it so not worth watching. "Since high school, actually." High school? You can't use kiss and tell stories if you deny the other person the same luxury. That's like an unspoken rule.

Not that I'd ever want to share. Who wants to tell anyone you've been with a mythical creature? People just don't believe you that you've slept with a banshee. And sleeping with Madison isn't all that impressive; everyone's been there and done that. "I thought you wanted no one to know?" You know, from the no more eye contact and the words 'no one can know'.

"Spencer's special." Way to make it sound like she rides a certain type of bus. I guess banshees aren't the most articulate. "She just gets stuff." Like diseases from you?

Don't agree, Davies. I'm sure hell is way too cold for you when it freezes over. Just shrug. Now ignore it. Good. "So why you out here then?" Because I know if I could get through those doors my legs wouldn't let me leave.

She looks over at me. You can just feel evil when it looks at you. I think that's the thinking behind pepper spray at least. I mean, you have to be super ready with that shit to make it work. "It was just too much." Yeah, I think I know what she means. Ugh, do no, do not, think on her level.

I'm so going to get a headache. "What's wrong with her?" Because I need to know what or who to kill. Not to threaten. Kill.

"The capecitabine they started her on yesterday reacted badly with her warafin and she has an acute case of drug induced neutropenia." Such large words coming from such a hard rock. The universe is so playing with me today because everyone knows Aiden sticks to one to two syllable words. The rock and brick are standing in front of us, both of whom shift to their right foot uncomfortably. See, made for each other.

Aiden sits next to me and Glen next to Madison, filling the hole in the middle. So much for not getting accidentally contaminated. Figures. "What are you two doing out here?" At least Madison is good for something. I don't have to waste my breath on these yokels. I'm saving it, you know, for more important things.

"She woke up." Don't look so relieved, Davies. These people feed off weakness. Try something different. Probably to tell the two of you to go get it on Though, I guess, 'get it on' doesn't sound very doc-ish. You're really just losing at life right now. "The doctor is with her right now. He asked us to leave." Your low frequencies obviously mess with the equipment.

She's okay. She's going to be fine. And she's behind impassable doors. You can leave now, Davies. Unless you hit your head at some point I'm unaware of, and you suddenly enjoy the etiquette of ignorance. Yeah, I didn't think so. You can do it. She doesn't need you here. She has the one she misses, and the one she smiles at, and the one whose hand is far too big for hers. I stand but my standing is interrupted by cold hands grabbing mine. My hand is definitely not his to grab and the one that is, is far too small. "She asked for you."

And I sit because I'm sure I could never deny those eyes anything. And even though they're locked behind impassable doors, they are right here with me. "Whatever." Because none of them need to know where my smile is at, what my breath is for. "How'd she look?" What? I'm not complete steel. My mask has its flaws.

"Good enough to tell me she hates my haircut." I hear him chuckle. It's quiet like his sister's. The brick's hair looks the same to me. Oh well, must be a sibling thing, I guess. "She'll be fine." Don't say it so quietly, you're convincing me not yourself, you brick. Can't even do anything right. I really can't believe they're related.

"Don't use the word fine right now, Glen." Lover's spat? This is a good question, who would win if you threw a rock and brick together at equal velocity? No, no, too much physics right now. Ha, though it really all depends on who's more dense. Okay, okay, out of my system. "Sorry, bro, you know how it is." Bro? I can say, in all honesty, that no one, since the late nineties, has said that when they want to be taken even remotely seriously. I just, I have no words. I feel like I'm in a spin off comedy, that's just, not all that funny.

Are they going to kiss and make up? No, of course not. Why? Because, I want them to and I'm starting to get used to not getting what I want. "We better go get the kids from Chel's." The brick is standing, but he's standing alone. The cheese stands alone… What is with you and children's songs today, Davies? Wasn't it bad enough when they put one of your songs on Kidz Bop?

"I'm not leaving here without Spencer." I guess they do call dogs loyal. And we all know what they call female dogs. And we all know what Madison is. It all makes perfect sense now.

"Babe, she's fine." Babe? Really? I'd think you'd have evolved at least past that. What's next, hunny? "She'll be home tonight." Un-exorcised, demon lairs cannot be good for anyone's recovery. "We have newborns at home." And you know the spawn of Madison has to be high maintenance. Some things are just too highly engrained not to be genetic.

"It'll be fine, Madi." Not really, you really did reproduce with a man that actually thinks the word babe is flattery. "I'll call if anything changes." I wonder how long it took him to teach himself how to operate a phone. I can only imagine. If how long it took me to teach him to operate other things is any indication, it's a very long time.

Madison finally stands. No, really, I miss the huge stomach. I'm buying her a lifetime supple of bacon for Christmas. See, and if she still looked like a house, I could have made plenty of cannibal jokes here. It's all so wasted. "Thanks, Aid." Does no one use real, full names anymore? I watch as the males do some primitive, mating dance with their hands. Really? Odd handshakes should probably have ended with voice cracking, but whatever. I wonder how much Discovery Channel would pay me for a documentary of this. I'd call it, 'When Objects Move: The Horror Story.' Or, I'd think of something a little more catchy.

And they're gone. Why does everyone like to leave me alone with this nimrod? I'm beginning to think it's planned. Or it's my divine punishment for ever touching him. Or something like that. Because I know, not even my karma is that low. "Thanks for coming here with her." Like I had a choice, and don't thank me. You don't get to be thankful for her, at least not to me.

I roll my eyes even though I don't think he can see it. Force of habit, I guess. "Don't mention it." Try not to mention anything right now while you're at it.

"I think I pissed Glen off." I don't really think bricks have the emotional specter to be pissed for long, don't worry. "I just can't handle the word fine right now." I think he has some serious issues against this word. There are more important things to be pissed at than words. For example, some people have some serious issues with global warming or deforestation. I'll try to think of some issues with fewer syllables for you.

"Why?" Generally, fine is a good thing. The dictionary defines it as such and everything. That's it. I'm just buying everyone dictionaries for Christmas. I'll highlight different things to, you know, add the personal touch. What? It'll be the nice ones. The ones with a thesaurus in there too.

"Everyone is always using it, and I really don't think it's really ever that fine." Remember when I use to orgasm when we were together? Well, that was called pretending. You need to learn how to do it. Everyone else does. You need to let me continue pretending, you prick.

"I'm sure it really is fine." Because it has to be. It has to be right now. Because I'm not ready for not fine, yet. I don't think I ever will be.

"This time." Well, isn't this time the time we're on? "You weren't here when it wasn't fine before." Not by choice. I would have been if I could have been. Or, that's what I am going to tell myself to get to sleep tonight.

"It'll be different this time." Hopefully not too different. I'd like the end result to be the same. Very much alive super hero with two sets of every organ. "Doc is strong." She has to be because I'm just a coward trying so hard not to run. Too bad she's the only thing I have to run to. Kind of makes it difficult.

"She thinks she's strong." And why would you argue with super geniuses? It's not like you have, well, anything going on in that head of yours. What? This conversation doesn't count. It's the grief talking, not him, or something. "So strong that she doesn't need any of us." Maybe she'd prefer the company of live humans? Or intellectual conversation? "She just pushes us away."

"Maybe it's just her way of coping." Because she doesn't have friends in bottles like I do. Or lines of white like Charles does. Or pills with smiley faces like Freddy does. Everyone needs to cope somehow, right?

"But we all need her as much as she needs us." That us has never seemed so taunting as it does right now. "We love her." And she loves them, and she doesn't need me at all, does she? "I just don't know what to do." Yeah, well, welcome to the sad, lonely club, jackass. What? I really think I'm in the right to use unneeded profanities right now.

"Don't look at me." No, really, don't. I'm pretty much lost on everything right now. I find it amazing that I still remember my name.

"Ms. Davies?" I look up. Apathetic doctor is standing by the closed doors. Way to be a savior. I'd hug you, but you're kind of a jerk.

"Yeah?" Tell me you've just diagnosed Aiden with a sudden case of laryngitis.

"Ms. Carlin is asking for you." See, I knew she'd want to make fun of me for calling her a thing earlier. Or maybe she wants to finish the job that this whole scenario has almost done. Death or insanity. I don't know which one is coming first. "You can follow me." And I stand because my legs don't listen to me anymore and they didn't even question and I follow the pompous man through doors I never thought I'd get through and I don't bother to look back at boys whose hearts are breaking because I'm scared it'll break mine too.

But now, as I stand outside doors that hold everythings. I wish my heart had broken, because now all I am aware of is the heaviness that a heart creates, and all I want is to be numb. And I push open the door. The impassable door. I can do this. "Hey." Those tubes and lines better not hurt her or I'll take out that apathetic doctor from earlier. I have money; I could pay someone to do it. And why does she still look pale? Do my tax dollars do absolutely nothing? Someone needs to get back in here and fix her, right now.

She turns her head towards the door. See, that was an entirely too slow of a turn. They aren't doing their jobs. They aren't doing them at all. She smiles, but her lips don't seem as full as they usually do. I'm done paying my taxes, done. "You're here." Will you please move into the room, Davies? You're looking paler than she is.

I'm always here, Doc. There's nowhere else for me to be. What else could there be to do when the whole world is locked up in a small, dull room in the end of guarded halls? "There's no other place I really could be, Doc." There's no other place my body would let me be.

She's staring at me, and I've never been happier. Now the question is how am I ever going to sleep not knowing for sure those blue eyes are still sparkling, still brighter than the sun to me. I guess I'll give the sunglasses to someone else for Christmas. "I just thought that maybe you'd left." I think I'm scared to leave, because I'm scared you won't miss me, Doc. "They told me you came with me on the ambulance." Yeah, I have a strong diversion to letting go of your hand, what of it? "And that you're lucky the paramedics aren't pressing charges." Yeah, well, let them try. I've gotten out of far worse.

Stop staring at her and say something. Conversation is usually key at times like these. "Yeah, well, you know how I like to protect fashion." Well, not exactly what I was thinking. She stares silently at me. I guess she doesn't appreciate fashion as much as I do. Figures. "What? Don't look at me like that, Doc." Unless you're never going to stop. "I didn't look, I swear." Hang your head in shame, Davies. Just hang it.

I think that was a futile attempt at an eye roll. I obviously have taught her nothing. Perhaps lessons are in order once she's better, once the color comes back, once my air is mine again. "Did they tell you what was wrong?"

Yeah, but not in English. "Yeah, uh…" Now, if Aiden can say them you can remember them. "You started a war with some neutral country called Cape-a-something." Okay, scratch hanging the head, go bang it against some hard wall somewhere. Even Aiden could get it right.

She tries to laugh but coughs. See what your stupidity does? She already gets lethal doses at home; she doesn't need you coming in here poisoning her. It better be a hard wall with spikes. "Yeah, it's something like that." Doc, I am so sorry. "Sit down, Ashley." Sit down? Like stay? Here? In here?

And what about Chicago? What about the boy you kiss and hold and tell him you miss him? What about him? "Wouldn't you rather brainless out there?" Really, why do you always push, Davies? Can't you ever just leave it?

"Aiden?" I nod. How many brainless idiots does she actually know? "I asked for you, didn't I?" If only that was always the case.

"I just…" Just shut up and sit. The chair is too far away from her and I pull it closer until it touches the bed. I can sit cross legged for once. It can't give you varicose veins the first time, right? Yeah, maybe I was the only second grader who knew what varicose veins were, but at least I've been going through twenty-six years of prevention, and I'll be so pissed if I ever get them.

She grabs my hand. Should she be moving? Isn't there a thing about overexerting? Maybe you should just shut up and wipe the grin off your face. It's so much better when she's squeezing back even if it leaves my body numb and even if I'm not sure if I can talk now and even if I know I'm going to have to let go. "I'm glad you stayed." Can you hold my hand every time you're glad, Doc? "I was scared you'd leave." She was scared I'd leave? At least she knows I'll always come back. She has collateral, you know.

A heart is good collateral if I've ever heard of one. "Why do you have to go and scare me, Doc?" Why'd you have to go and make me feel like any of this isn't worth it if I don't have you to make fun of or complain to or gloat to? Or to stare at or to understand me. I need that, you know, Doc. "Wasn't Brenda enough?" She scares grown men into crying and begging to sleep with their parents.

She closes her eyes and squeezes my hand a little harder. She better not be in pain. Morphine better work for the super among us or I'm complaining to the manufacturer, or something. "I was going to tell you she was observing."

I see where this is going. "But you weren't talking to me." Which is starting to become a trend with her. Kind of junior high, if you think about it.

"No, I was scared you wouldn't come." What? Well, that's never really an issue when it comes to you, Doc. Sometimes with other people, but never with you.

"Oh." You're going to win a Pulitzer Prize with how amazingly eloquent your prose is. Really. If I didn't love my face a little, I'd completely punch it.

"Ashley, about the other night." Oh, no. We are so not doing this when I am emotionally exhausted and vulnerable. Cut me a break, Doc, I swear, I only took one quick peak. I am human, aren't I? I mean, yeah, you were vulnerable, but I kept all those pervs from looking, I promise.

"Don't worry about it, Doc." I'm kind of getting used to the whole unrequited love thing. I hear it sells great music. Well, until the artist turns up dead at twenty-six. Which, by the way, is my age. Have I mentioned I hate omniscient signs? "I get it." Like I get differential calculus.

"Ashley."

"Really, I should be apologizing." I thought we were done with apologies? But something is wrong and it can't be her fault. It can't be. Because I'm always wrong. "I really don't know when to keep my mouth shut, sometimes." Much like the present. Just, please, stop talking.

"Ashley."

"I shouldn't have said it." But I meant it. I don't think I've ever meant anything more. Nothing has really been worth that kind of meaning, nothing has ever an everything. You're the first, Doc. "I mean, I meant it." Ugh, no. You aren't making it better. Remember when you use to be good at avoidance and denying? Try it. "Well, I mean, yeah, no I meant it." Yeah, nice try.

"Ashley."

"I've ruined everything, haven't I?" Now the smiles that steal my air and the eyes that read my mind and the hands that pilfer my cold, all that is going to be gone. All because I have a stupid rambling problem. You know, I never had this problem before.

"Ashley."

"I'm so sorry." At least this time you have a reason to be sorry. I don't think I'll ever forgive me.

"Will you shut up for a minute?" Don't have to be so pushy, Doc, geez. "Will you do something for me?" Anything.

"Depends on what it is." What? I like to pretend that she doesn't know she has complete control over me. Makes me feel better about myself.

"For right now." See, already not good. "Can you just say it again?" What? Maybe I've hit my head somewhere, and this is all a dream. A twisted dream, but still a dream.

"Huh?" It's all I can make out between panic and disbelief.

"Please." But I could never deny her ever, even if my heart is ready to explode and my skin is ready to peel off and my head, my head is barely there at all. Because this is a thing I never thought I'd say again, and this is a thing that all I've wanted to do is say.

"I love you."

And she squeezes my hand and closes her eyes. "Will you stay with me until I fall asleep?"

And I nod, because if I had it my way I'd never leave. I'd paint us a life in this small room. I'd unsterilize the walls and make us a home, because these clasped hands and her even breath is more of a family than I've ever known, and more of one than I'll ever deserve. And I'll sit here and count her heartbeats through her hand and listen to her breaths as I carefully try to find words to match this rhythm, because this rhythm is everything, this rhythm is love.


	20. A Day Late Friend

**A Day Late Friend **

Okay, so it's Wednesday. So what? Wednesday is a good day. It's sometimes called hump day, you know. What can be wrong about a day named that? Absolutely nothing. So, I just thought I'd take a drive. Drives are nice. I heard once, from a genius, that driving can be calming. Alright, so I'm not allowed to drive myself anymore, but I figured it would have the same effect. So far, nothing.

Well, that might be because we aren't driving anymore. We are parked. Parked in the middle of serial killer central. Parked outside a house of evil. What? The house is haunted. It called me here, or something. Okay, no, that's a lie. I just, I really can't sleep at all. I can't sleep with lifeless hands in my head. So that's why I am exiting my limo and walking the driveway, but not the driveway where kisses happen, no, the driveway where leaving happens, and I am knocking on a door, because there is no doorbell.

I watch as the white door opens. "Ashley?" It's the rock. I only had a one out of four chance for the person to be bearable. You wouldn't play Russian roulette with those kind of odds. Well, you shouldn't be playing Russian roulette at all. "You know it's ten at night, right?" However, this is so much worse than Russian roulette. At least a bullet would do it quick. This is the feeling of my brain slowly disintegrating. Of course I know what time it is. Wait, nope, obviously, I have given up clocks in my search for enlightenment. There is no such thing as time, and all that.

He's standing in the door, leaning against the post, watching me shift my weight from foot to foot. Well, now that you've mentally berated him, why don't you think of a good excuse for entering this hellish sitcom past primetime? "Yeah, I, uh…" Apparently the brain disintegrates faster than I thought.

He moves to the side. "Come in, come in." Actually, I'm beginning to think I have a better chance out here with the suburban serial killers. Freddy can protect me out here. It's a free for all with my sanity in there. "It's always good to see you."And it's always a kick in the gut to see you. I am only walking inside in hopes that it'll shut you up.

And sadly it still smells of banshee and inanimate objects. Next time I come here, I'm bringing Febreeze. Not that there is going to be a next time, per se. Now would be a great time for that excuse, Davies, maybe it'll make him stop looking at you in narrow hallways, within arm's reach. I swear if he hugs me I will not be liable for what my knee does. "Yeah, well." Try to make it intelligent. You don't want him to actually think he could hold an actual conversation with you. "I was just in the neighborhood." You failed horribly. You pretty much disgust me a little.

Ugh, wipe that smile off your face. I can't interpret the facial expressions of anything dumber than a polar bear. What? Polar bears are pretty much the cutest thing on this planet and you can so interpret their faces. They smile happily at those cameras. They're pretty much hams for the camera. "All the way out here?" Shut up. It was a lot better excuse than your 'I only have one blanket I guess you'll have to sleep with me' excuse. Remember that one? Because I sure remember laughing at it.

I roll my eyes because he so deserves it. Nobody calls me out. "Freddy got lost." Always better to blame it on others. Been doing it for twenty four years with the establishment of my first phrase, 'you did it.' "Anyways." Remember, Davies, you are here with a purpose. Pure masochism isn't it. "Uh, is Spencer here?" There we go. Some progress.

He nods. It reminds me of a boggle head. "She's putting Ian to bed." Aw, Blue Eyes The pure evil atmosphere cannot be god for him. I think I read once that evil air leads to asthma, or something.

"You mind if I wait?" I have obviously have developed an addiction for annoyance. I wonder if they have clinics for these types of things.

"Seriously?" I'm surprised my ears haven't taken up bleeding at random intervals with all this banshee contamination. "Don't you have other places to haunt?" Madison is talking to me about haunting places? Really? I find something terribly ironic with that.

"I was…" Okay the in the neighborhood thing, so cliché, and Madison is a bullshiter. You can't bullshit a bullshiter. "I wanted to see how Spencer was." That doesn't mean you have to be honest. See, now look what you did, I'm sure that glare could turn people to stone. Don't look directly at it. Although, I would make a pretty stunning statue.

Aiden is standing between us. The perv is probably enjoying this. I really never understood the threesome thing. Why would anyone want to share? "Don't rock stars keep phones anymore?" Yes, they do, but sometimes they have issues with the send button. And sometimes certain seven number streams take three hours to dial. And sometimes the phone just seems too heavy to carry.

But that's really none of her business. "They don't make dog muzzles anymore?" Not your best work, but she is bearing teeth.

She's walking towards me, but Aiden stands in the way. He's like that annoying rock you can't find in your shoe, but you know it's there. Like that. Because, I've so been waiting to punch Madison for years. And it annoys me that she doesn't look like a house. And it annoys me because the doc probably notices. She's observant like that. "Why don't you go upstairs, Ash, first door on your right." Alright, I'll do it, but I'll go get some holy water tomorrow. Don't they sell it by the gallon now, or something?

"Yeah, thanks."I walk pass them both and suppress the urge to body check Madison. The doc probably would like the excuses 'she deserved it' or 'she started it.' I personally think they're great excuses.

"Try not to touch anything."But that doesn't mean she can't body check me with her voice as I'm half way through the kitchen. "I don't want to have to clean again." Now, that would be an amazing YouTube video. She speaks, the soap scum obeys. Amazing.

The door to the room is open, and I lean against the doorframe. Mostly, because my legs are doing that thing again, where they won't hold me up. The doc is singing to a giggling Blue Eyes in his crib. And she lied to me a little, because even if she's out of key, and even if some of the notes are flat, she still sounds like an angel. Or the angels sound like her. Because the doc comes first. Always. "She's just the girl for me, and I want all the world to see we've met…"

Find your voice, Davies, you're giving off the creepy stalker vibe. "Doc?" Better.

I can tell I startled her by the way she jumped, and I kind of want to run and catch her, but I don't think I am allowed. "Ashley?" Shut up, heart, it's just a word. Get over it. Please? Or I'm going to have a heart attack by thirty. "What are you doing here?" Which of my many tools can I use here?

"Why are you teaching the poor kid terrible music?" Avoidance it is. Avoidance is key.

She laughs as she turns on some ridiculous, rotating light thing. Poor kid, I really hope you don't have epilepsy, or anything, especially after the tortures they put you through. "You just think it's terrible because it isn't your song." Well, that is part of the criteria for a terrible song. What? I don't do bad music. "And I do recall you listening to it as well." But, that's me, and it's catchy. But I don't want you to have anyone else's voice in your head. Even if it is old British men. I'm selfish like that.

"Maybe."Maybe I always sound absurd around you, Doc. Just, try not to think about it. "But he deserves the best."And three out of five critics agree, it's me. I admit four out of five would have been more impressive, but you can't win them all.

She smiles as she puts a stuffed bear into the crib and Blue Eyes snuggles into it. Not even polar bears could make that cuter. "And you know the best, Ms. Davies?" I'm an expert.

"Always." I'm looking right at her.

She turns away from the crib and comes to stand in front of me. Staring is rude, Davies. I just can't help it "And what are you doing here?" Damnit, avoidance is so much easier when probing, mind reading eyes are looking elsewhere. Not that I'm complaining.

"I just…" Couldn't stay up another night, because I have a horrible problem getting to sleep if I don't know for sure that your eyes are still reflecting ocean waves, and your skin is still warm to the touch, and because, in my nightmares, I have been living in a time that your skin was cold, and when your hand didn't squeeze back. "Wanted to know if you wanted to get coffee."But I don't want to feel like a pathetic puppy begging for your attention, so this is the best I can do.

She tilts her head, probably to amplify the sounds of my thoughts in her head. "Coffee?" Way to sound like you've never heard of it. I didn't just come up with the idea out of thin air. Many people drink these things.

I roll my eyes, because, let's face it, that was a perfect opportunity. "Yeah, black substance, full of caffeine."Your drug of choice if I remember correctly. Not that I bothered listening or something. I'm not convincing anyone, anymore, am I? Pathetic.

"It's ten at night." Oh no, he must be wearing off on her. I better get her some Sudoku. I hear it stimulates the mind. I can think of some other ways she could be stimulated. Shut up, Davies, shut up.

Think of something. "Well, you can get tea then." Way to be clever.

She smiles. Finally, you appreciate the cleverness of me, Doc. "You could have called."I believe I covered this already. Stick with the program, Doc.

"And if I had called you would have said no." Or wouldn't have picked up because you love to be sadistic. You know, it's a mean hobby, Doc.

"Probably." Yeah, who's the mind reader now? That would be me. "Come on, let me get my jacket." I think that's a point in my favor. Now I just need about a million more to catch up with the world. Stupid world.

The doc walks past me and I get a clear view of the crib. He's so getting a polar bear for Christmas. I wonder how much a house broken, friendly polar bear costs. I walk towards the crib and run my hands through his hair. What? There's something about a baby's skin that's pretty much irresistible. "Night, Blue Eyes." He grabs at my pointer finger and holds it giggling. Who couldn't smile at that? I mean, seriously. I pull it away gently and he quickly finds solace in his bear. "What are you looking at, Doc?" She's watching me as I walk out of the room. What did I do now? I didn't poison him, I swear. If anything, I'd worry about Aunt Madison's 'cleaning.'

"You're good with kids." I'm good with most things that do not talk back. I can make up the dialogue then. A lot of it has to do with how awesome I am.

Or they're just adorable. What? It's like passing a puppy on the street without wanting to steal it. "I like them."Especially him, because when he smile at me and looks at me, I see you Doc, and when I see you, Doc, I can't help but smile. I'm pretty sure you're holding my smile hostage because it only wants to work for you most days. "They're too young to be too stupid yet." Not enough years to gain that special brand of human experience.

She smiles and I learn that my knees hate me but she's turned toward the stairs so I'm safe for now. "Most people see it a different way." I wonder if most people have such a problem controlling their own bodies.

Finally, I get my legs to move after her. If I didn't love my legs and like walking, they'd so be gone. "Well, most people are stupid."Case and point. I believe I've won this one. She's pulling a jacket off the back of a kitchen chair.

"Where are you going?" Last time I checked she was eighteen plus, and it was none of your business. Look she can put her jacket on without you and everything. Where the hell do you people come from, anyways? I already have a weak heart.

"To get coffee." She stands on her toes and kisses him on the cheek. Stupid cheek. Stupid, hairy cheek. Haven't you ever heard of a razor? He wraps his way too big hands around her. "I put Ian to bed." You can let go of her now. You with your hairy cheeks and big hands and graying hair, you are a brute. No one likes brutes. "I'll be back in a little bit."I should so do you a favor and not drive you back here, ever. Trust me; it would be for the best.

"Spence." Look, it's her other keeper. "We were supposed to watch the end of War of the Worlds." Why do you need to watch that? Like any other ridiculous alien movie, something super simple kills the mean, nasty aliens. And the humans look like the intelligent ones in the end, even though millions of people are already dead. Obviously. And plus, who's to say, in that movie, that the aliens won't gain an immunity evntuelly. Then we are all fucked.

"We'll do it tomorrow, Madi."Shouldn't you two do something more productive? For example, in Madison's case, jumping off a cliff. Preferably a large one. Who am I kidding? She'd just laugh as she hit the rocks below and stand, brushing herself off. It's probably a daily ritual. "I promise."Don't waste your promises on her, Doc. It's not worth it.

"Alright, but you owe me." Madison is standing close to me on my right, but I can't bring myself to care too much. "And I mean big." Because I feel like we are both being forced to be the spectators to a terrible car crash, one where my heart happens to be the light post. And I can't really bring myself to care about anything else.

"I'll see you later, Ash." Don't speak to me, you rock. All your voice does is make me see red. It's so beyond annoyance at this point.

"Yeah, whatever." You think she'd be too upset if I unmanned him a little? And then they kiss. And it really is like a car crash, because I can't look away at first. And I definitely see his unskilled, even after all these years, tongue try to conquer her mouth. You don't conquer a mouth like that, you stupid, dense rock. You worship it; you let your mouth sing hymns to it. You don't attack it screaming battle cries. You're just so ignorant.

"Could we have a little less PDA, please?" And you make me agree with Madison, but she must be more desensitized than me, because she's still standing there, and I'm moving toward the door, because nobody wants to see watch light post made of their heart fall.

But I'm not fast enough because I have to listen once again to how far our species has fallen. "It's not public." And you would think someone with so much would respect it. Even monkeys can learn table manners, you jackass.

And I reach the door, and I've never been so relieved to reach a door that leads to the cold and possible serial killers in my life. "Ash, wait up."I am walking down the porch when she reaches me. This is one time I don't feel all that inclined to listen to you, Doc.

I don't bother to turn around, because I know her eyes tend to stun my anger, and for once my anger feels more than justified. "I didn't want to interrupt." Which is a bold faced lie. I kind of wanted to rip his tongue out. I'm sure Madison could use it for some of her voodoo or something.

"You never interrupt." She grabs my hand, but I pull it away. I prefer the cold tonight. I don't need any favors from her tonight. Or ever.

"Whatever, Doc." Good job, Davies. Way to punish yourself. She probably doesn't even car. You masochist.

Freddy is holding the door open for us as we approach him. "Hi, Freddy." He's taken, Doc. I know how you like big, brainless, muscle men. No offense, Fred.

"It's good to see you, Dr. Carlin." Yeah, good to see your tongue is still attached and you didn't lose your life to choking on rock saliva. Ew, gross thought.

"Call me, Spencer, Fred." Fred nods at her as we enter the limo. I let her enter first. Don't want any hidden daggers in the back now. I guess you really never know. He closes the door and retreats to his own door.

"Just bring us to the closest Starbucks." I instruct when he's taken his place behind the wheel. God knows I need some Starbucks now. If only flasks weren't tacky, I'd enjoy Starbucks so much more.

"There's a good corner place down the street."No way. She's taken my shoes, my sanity, my organs, there's no way she's getting Starbucks too. It's sacred. Why is nothing sacred anymore?

"I like Starbucks." Much more than I like you right now, Doc. Which is kind of hard because, I guess, it's not a secret anymore that I kind of like you. But only a little right now.

"Fred, take us to Xeno's." Last time I checked, he's not on your payroll, Doc. Just hang your head, Davies, remember the laser eyes. All you can do is roll your eyes. Lasering trumps rolling, no matter how cool you look doing it.

"Why is it so hard for you to listen to me?" Why is it so hard for me not to listen to you? I believe that is the better question.

"You need to try new things." If you can't tell, Doc, me being here is something new, and it's not working all that well right now. I hope back there wasn't supposed to be some kind of Yoda moment, or something. Because I could have done with light saber lessons, not mind games. Actually, I'd really enjoy a light saber.

"Yeah well." Yeah, really harsh. Try to use your brain once and awhile around her. It might help a little. "You need to try new people." Yeah, really a smooth one, Davies. You don't even get points for effort.

"You need to relax." I'll relax once someone hits me over the head and I forget the last twenty minutes of my life. I guess the rest of it wasn't hit over the head unbearable. Just, must find some tequila, unbearable.

"Yeah, well." Is that idiot for 'somewhere I list all my sarcasm; it must have drowned in your eyes too'? Because if it is, she only needed to hear it once. "If they don't have as good of mochas as Starbucks." This is the point where you come up with a then. That's usually the point of an if/then statement. "You're going to owe me dinner." Oh, good, Davies, because that ended so well for you the last time. Actually, if you squint your eyes and move your head a little to the left, it kind of did.

"Deal."

"But not a lame dinner." Because my head will literally explode if I have to sit through another one of those. Really, explosion. And I'd like to keep my remains looking as amazing as they did in life, thank you very much.

"Lame?" Shall I highlight it in your dictionary for you?

"Yeah, any dinner where Aiden or Madison are present." I'm pretty sure this definition is included in all updated dictionaries. If not, I can write it in for you.

She laughs and I try so hard to hate it. I'm trying so hard to stay mad, but it's so hard when I can feel the heat from her skin, under her jacket, so vividly on my arm. "We have a thing for dinner, don't we?"

"I really like food." I really just like spending time with you, Doc

"Oh, yeah, I can tell." Her fingers touch my stomach for a second and my stomach falls into my feet. Magic fingers. Shut up, Davies. Don't even go there.

"Shut up, Doc." Don't do that again unless your hand is planning on staying.

"You're the one that came to see me." So many sexual innuendoes. No, not really. Just to your sick mind. Don't grin. She'll see right through you. She always does.

I'm slowly pushing my stomach back into its rightful place. It just doesn't like to budge. I'm pretty sure it's scared she'll just push it back down there again. It doesn't like to fall, you know. "Well, now I am regretting it." Another bold faced lie. Good thing she reads minds, or I'd feel bad.

The car has stopped at a small building, seemingly in the middle of bufu. Great, she might as well have us wear signs that say, please come and attack us. It's like she's never seen a horror movie in her life. Coffee in the middle of nowhere always equals death. Okay, so it's not the middle of nowhere, but I still say the city is safer. "We're here." Why, thanks, Fred, I couldn't figure that out all by myself.

He's opening the door for us and I fumble out first. Great, now she knows about my horrible limo exit skills. I try not to notice how well her jeans hug her thighs as she climbs out after me. Watch were your eyes are trained, Fredrick. You may be built of muscle but I'm so not below throwing a cheap shot. "Thank you, Freddy." Don't thank him for checking you out, Doc. Really, you should probably kick him or something.

I glare at him and he gives me his stupid smirk. Yeah, you know what you did, you prick. "Wait here, Fred, this shouldn't take long." There's no way he's going in there with us now. He can just sit in the car and dream of French vanilla lattes, his drink of choice. This is why gay men are so much better. "Just long enough for me to win a bet." What? I have a lot going on, dinner is important to my health, and all that.

"I didn't say bet." You don't say a lot of things, Doc.

"Okay, just long enough for Dr. Carlin to owe me dinner." She attempts an eye roll but fails on the delivery. Really, I should charge for lessons. She begins to walk and I try to keep my eyes on the sky. The stars are almost visible here.

"So full of yourself." Well one of us needs to be into me, and it never seems to be you, Doc. I'm just saving my sanity, really.

I follow her into the establishment. It's dimly lit with tables scattered around randomly. "It's easy when you are me." It helps that if I can't think of anything good about myself, I can read a magazine and it'll tell me. Wait, so where is the coffee? "So, what do we do?" I see no amazing bar with excellent machines to craft me delicious ambrosia.

"We sit." Sit? In those dingy things? Who knows who's sat there before us.

I guess she doesn't care because she's sitting and patting the seat next to her. Stupid, welcoming eyes. I am only sitting, Doc, because it would be an insult to the ocean if I kept standing. I've told you before, I love the ocean. "And?"

"They come and ask us what we want." Well, that sounds like a bunch of nonsense. If I wanted to be waited on I'd go to some upscale restaurant and just order coffee. Didn't anyone ever explain to her that coffee drinking is supposed to be a private matter?

"There aren't many people here." There's only one other couple huddled together in the corner. Not that I'm insinuating that we're a couple. I mean, because we're not. I mean, there's just another group of two people, that happen to be sitting next to each other, much like we are, but both of them seem to have a staring problem for each other. I'm the only one over here with that disposition.

"Well, that's because it's nearly eleven at night." What is what their obsession with the time? It's not like I came over at, oh, let's see, two in the morning. Not that I know anyone that would do that.

"Which is prime drinking time." Or prime late night TV show watching time. It's always good when you can mix the two though.

"Generally not coffee drinking time." Yeah, well, the rest of the world can sleep because they haven't held your lifeless hand, so please, cut me some slack on the late night caffeine front, because it's the only thing my body is running on. God, don't say that, Davies.

"That's just because you're boring, Doc." So boring that you're all I want to listen to. "You should spice up your life." And I could definitely come up with some great ways to do so. One of them is called yoga and the other one is called me. You can put both of them together if you want. I'm sure you can be creative.

I watch as a petite brunette approaches the table. Poor girl is forced to wear an apron. Poor girl, or poor my eyes, I'm not sure which one. Ugh, stop perving on teenagers, Davies. That's pretty much illegal. "Oh my God." Her god must have an amazing sense of humor to allow her voice to exist at such a frequency. I bet she makes dogs cry. "Are you Ashley Davies?" Ugh. Really? Anything else to make this night complete?

The doc tilts her head and smiles at me. "You're Ashley Davies?" I'm pretty sure I'm whoever you want me to be.

"No, not last time I checked." I'm a love sick puppy. Ashley Davies is a badass rock star. I barely even resemble her lately.

"Oh." So, this is how it's like to crush teenage dreams. It feels a lot different when you're not a teenager too. I kind of feel bad. "Well, you look a lot like her." Well, at least my outside still resembles me a little.

"Oh, I think she's hotter." Did the doc just say she thinks I'm hot? And since when does the doc use such words as hot? And since when do you blush when someone calls you hot? Get over it. It's not like it's the first time. Just the first time that matters.

The girl nods. Yeah, that's what I thought. "What can I get the two of you?"

"Mocha." And please let it be a horrible one.

"Can I get a chai tea, please?" Okay, that stuff has just as much caffeine in it as a coffee. You so aren't saving yourself any sleep, Doc. And it's like drinking Christmas, which sounds like a delicious thing, but have you ever gotten the urge to drink ginger bread cookies? Yeah, I didn't think so.

She writes the drinks down in a little book. I suppose she'll move up in the world once she stops killing trees for her lack of a memory. "No problem, I'll be right back with those." And she leaves for the back room I watched her come out of.

The doc is laughing. Of course she is. I'll just pretend like she's laughing at the poor girl and not me. There's nothing wrong pretending. "She seems to be a fan." Psh, don't laugh, Doc. I don't see you having any fans. I don't count. Okay, neither does Madison. And Aiden really doesn't count, because he's a rock.

Just change the subject, Davies. "Well, what are you going to name me?" I have some ideas but it's doubtful you'll like many of them. One of which happens to be Italian Stallion. I always wished I was Italian so I could use said name. I saw a shirt that said that once.

"What?" Come on, keep up, Doc.

"Well, I am no longer Ashley Davies." Says you and all.

"Can I call you Buddy?" Buddy? Okay, what kind of name is Buddy? Buddy is definitely not on the above list. Buddy isn't even on the next twelve lists under the above list.

"Who wants to scream a name like Buddy?" Buddy screams friendship. And that's what you are, Davies, friends. Am I missing something, did we get a different memo? I didn't think so.

"Who said anything about screaming?" Please, Doc, kick me in the gut again. I really don't think you've done a good enough job yet today. If you try hard enough I'm pretty sure I'll metaphorically start to spit out blood. Metaphorical blood is so just as bad as real blood. Ask any good emo band.

"Here are your drinks ladies." What? That was way too alarmingly fast for coffee. I don't drink the instant stuff; this body is too pure for that. I am so not paying if I get a chunk of unstirred instant mocha on my spoon. Nothing is worse than chunks of unstirred solutions. Think about it. Tomato soup, hot chocolate. It's all the same.

"Thank you." I stare blatantly at the name tag on her chest. I hope you're watching, Doc. You so deserve it. "Amanda." Why's the doc's 'makes blind men stare' chest have to ruin all other chests. She already did it with the legs. Ugh, way to be, Doc.

"Oh, it's no problem." She winks at me. Kid, don't waste your winks on me. I'm so amazingly Spencer-whipped it's not even funny. So amazingly whipped I just watch as the girls walks away and I stare down into my drink.

You pansy. "She's so into me." Now, how about you be too, huh, Doc. All the cool kids are doing it. For some reason the doc doesn't seem like someone to give into peer pressure all that much. Of course not, because that would be too easy. Easy isn't in her vocabulary. I'm pretty positive of it. It's sure in mine though.

"Not every woman in the world wants you, Ashley." Psh, blasphemy. I'm pretty sure it's just you, Doc, and you don't count because you're more of a super genius than anything else.

"Why not?" I see no reason why not. Yeah, keep telling yourself that.

"Well, to begin with some of them are straight." Girls can be straight?

"Just a condition." Obviously.

Ugh, stop laughing, Doc. Before you trample all my self-esteem into the ground. I kind of miss it a little. "So, are you going to tell me why you wanted to get coffee?"Because I breathe easier when you are in arms reach?

How about not sounding needy. "How are you feeling, Doc?" The stealth approach. Like a spy, but sexier. I like it.

"Just fine." Why'd she have to go and use that word? I haven't been able to get that grunting noise that is Aiden's voice out of my head about that word. Why does she get the ability to destroy otherwise nice, simple words? Because she's all powerful, that's why.

"Someone once told me that fine wasn't always the truth when it comes to you." Someone? Okay, okay, something. But, same difference. This is no time to be arguing semantics.

"I am fine." I'm pretty much a champion at convincing myself things instead of other people. You can't beat a champion.

"Don't lie to me, Doc." I stir my drink. There has to be evidence for instant drink in here somewhere. There has to be an answer for something in here somewhere.

I hear the doc sigh. I hate it when she sighs like that. I hate it because it feels like she uses all my air to do it. This time, I didn't give her permission to steal my air. I didn't. "You started talking to me thirty eight days ago." She's counted? "And that wasn't by choice." How was I to know that everythings existed? People don't really broadcast it when they find one. They just want to keep them for themselves. I understand that.

"Doc – "

"Just, for now." Why is it always just for now? What about later, Doc? Because we'll both be here later. "Please, believe me when I say fine." But I'm more inclined to believe your eyes than your lips, Doc. Your lips have been good to me, but they've lead me astray, your eyes have never lied to me. "I just need someone to."But what if I can't be that person? What if I can't do it?

"I'm scared, Doc." I'm scared that one day it'll be more than missed phone calls, more than kisses with a boy too large for you, more than friendly names, I'm afraid one day it'll just be cold forever, and not even memories of driveways would be able to warm me, not even memories of smiles, or touches. Not even sitting by the ocean. None of it will be able to warm me. Because you're the only thing lately, Doc. The only thing that has been able to keep me warm.

"Ashley – "

"No, listen." Now, I just wish I had an intelligent thing to say for you to listen to. "You used your powers and got me so I may as well wear a bracelet that says 'what would the doc do'." She laughs at this. Yeah, I guess that is one extra letter. Whatever, you deserve an extra letter, Doc. "No, seriously."Because I've never taken anything so seriously in my life. "I just know that." I can't imagine breathing if you're not somewhere breathing the same oxygen as me. "I just know I want to be here for you." Because I can't imagine anything else.

"I want you here." But she sighs when she says it. Why do you have to ruin the most beautiful words, Doc? The words I need to hear.

"I'm not going to run away." I don't have anything to run away to but to you. And that seems pointless. How can you run away from something that your life is wrapping around so tight that some nights you aren't sure which one of you, you are breathing for?

"Sometimes I wish you would." But, I thought, I thought, a lot of things that don't compute well with that statement. Nothing in my body is computing well with that statement.

"Doc?" Fix me, please.

"Where were you in high school, Ashley?" High school? Getting high, being smashed, playing with my guitar, and messing around with everything that came my way. High school has nothing to do with you, Doc. High school has nothing to do with anything.

"I – "

"I could have loved you then, Ashley." Who would want to love me then? It was like cuddling a crack pipe. But at least the pipe you got to get high with afterwards, with me you just got an extra kick in the gut, for fun. "I could have." I don't get it, Doc.

"But –" But I couldn't have loved you then, Doc. I couldn't have. We both know that. We do. You know it because I know it. That's how it works, right?

"I really don't have anything to give you now." But, you were giving me enough. All I need is ocean eyes and mind reading glances. That's all I need. I just need to know that you're alright, and that you're smiling. That's all. Because I'm pretty sure the world depends on your smiles. And it couldn't give that up. It couldn't.

"I don't want anything." Don't lie to her. She always knows. "I just want you to smile."I just want to be able to live vicariously through those smiles, to feel what it's like to actually be alive.

"I shouldn't be smiling for you." But you don't smile for me. Not really. You smile for him, and you miss him, and you kiss him hello like his hands aren't too big for yours. He gets kissed in the light, in homes. I get kissed in the dark, in driveways.

"Friends smile for friends." Like you would know, Davies. "Or at least so I've heard."

"You said that we couldn't be friends once." But, I'll get a camera, I'll buy a camera, and I'll take your picture, and I'll throw away the crayons, and then, and then, they'll be less tears, less, because even though the colors won't be exactly right, and the shine won't be there precisely, at least I'll have something that resembles at least the shallow waters, and at least then I won't have to try so hard, and then, and then your picture can maybe leave my mind a little, because you'll be on paper too. I can fix this.

"You've never listened to me before." And I know this is a lie, because all she ever does is listen.

And she knows I know it's a lie. I can tell by the way she shakes her head, but her eyes never meet mine. "Ashley, I listen to everything you've ever said to me." I'm terrified they never will again.

"Whatever, Doc. I was wrong." I'll be wrong about whatever else you want me to be wrong about. I'll even tell Madison I was wrong. I'll do it. It'll be emotional suicide, but I'll do it. I'll do it for you.

"I don't know if you were." What? The one time I want to be wrong. The one time I admit to being wrong, and this is the time that she decides that I am right. This time. The time that really matters. "I'm being unfair to you." Then be unfair to me, Doc. I don't care right now, I don't. You can be unfair to me forever, as long as forever is a really long time. A really long time that I can listen to you breathe and hold your hand and count your heart beats. That's all I want. "Ashley, I am getting married in thirty two days." But that's not how the story is supposed to go. That's not how any story goes.

Fix this, Davies. Fix it yourself. "Don't flatter yourself, Doc." But she should because no one does it enough. "I…" Just, give up now. "I just like to hang out with you for your hot legs." Which, were the first thing I noticed about you, but they'll never be the last. Just, shut up, Davies. You've really lost this one.

She stands and throws money on the table. "I have to go." You don't have to go, Doc. You never have to go. You're choosing to go. At least get it right in the end. Even I always do.

I stand as well, but she's half way to the door, and she's not looking back. "Wait." She turns, but I can tell it's just a curtsey, in her mind; she's already walked out that door. "We can drive you." Let me hold on just a little longer, just let me hold on.

"It's not far at all." Yeah, but the distance my stomach has dropped is more than far.

"Don't leave, Spencer." I grab her hand as she exits the door; I knew she'd pull it away before I did it. I just needed to feel her warmth one more time. I needed to be selfish. She needs that warmth as much as I do. "I love you." Why can't those words be bigger? Why can't they be stronger? Why can't they ever just be enough? Why couldn't they fix this? "All three times I've ever said it have been to you." The only three times I'll say it will be to you. "That has to mean something." I know it means something, and I think you do too Doc.

She's crying. I can feel it because I am back in the vacuum, back in the vacuum watching that beautiful girl cry, and I can't reach her. Not even if I reached out and wiped that tear that I know is falling down her cheek, even though she isn't facing me. "I can't, Ashley." But I have no idea what she can't do. "Not like this." Not ever?

"Spencer – " But she's running, and I know I wouldn't be able to catch her, and I know even if I caught up to her, it wouldn't make a difference. She's long gone again, but I'm still right here again. And I look up to the stars that she loves, the ones that she's replaced in my heart, and I wonder if they ever cry. I wonder if they can feel. I wonder if I cry for them, if they'll cry for me, because I just don't know if I have anything left in me to cry for myself anymore.


	21. It’s Not Over

**Session Ten:** It's Not Over.

I'm pretty mad. So mad that I'm even mad at the captain and Jack and Jose. I'm mad at them because their words just aren't consoling. Stupid inanimate objects. I'm mad because my manicure didn't turn out like I wanted it to and because there are way too many stoplights in the city and because interest rates are set to rise and because species of butterflies are endangered. But mostly, I'm just mad at her. She didn't even have the decency to call. Nope, she had Skyla Barker, formally known as the dinosaur, call. And did the fossil call me? Nope. They called Charles. My appointment has been rescheduled for Saturday. Saturday? I knew I shouldn't have mocked the homeless kids. It never turns out well. Because, the doc spends her Saturdays with them. Where would that leave me? I'll tell you one thing, that doesn't leave me talking to a patriarch of an evil super powered family when I should be doing other, semi-important things.

So I am here. Because that's where I should be on a Friday afternoon, and I believe they need to hear from me that Saturday just doesn't work for me. And since the doc obviously has never heard of a phone, or at least answering one, I'll have to make for certain she gets the message. None of this is really working for me. Even my legs have been extra heavy lately. They just don't understand that they can't always walk towards her, but they're happy right now as I scale the eleven stories that are separating us. My head is the thing that's pounding, that and I guess my heart, but me and my heart still aren't talking.

I really hope after today I can find a masochists anonymous, because I am really going to need it. I'm pretty sure I could make president of that club no hands down. And if they disagree, I'll just introduce them to the doc. You always lose, unless it's masochism you want to win, when you fall in love with the anti-Christ, the anti-Christ who you see as an angel. I'm pretty sure that's blasphemy of some degree. Maybe that's my karma problem lately. It figures she'd be involved.

So, in the last two days, Charles has taken away my crayons and Freddy refuses to drive me to random coffee shops in the middle of nowhere, but not really, to ask them if their mochas are instant. They're both against me. And so is the weather because I had to walk the two miles in the rain. I know somewhere in my head I remember that rain is never a good omen. Though, if you ask a lot of people, the last month hasn't been that great of an omen to me.

I walk through the door, that I'm pretty sure the universe is telling me not to. I wonder when I stopped talking to my head too. I wonder what you listen to when you're done talking to your head and your heart. It better not be instinct. Who knows what my instinct would do. "You're all wet." And usually such observations aren't as unbearably annoying as they are right now. Then again, it usually has different meaning. And not usually coming from a nearing a hundred year old woman.

"Yeah, well." What is that idiot for again? You'll probably have to change to translation in this case. You can't even speak idiot right. Way to be. "The rain does that to you." I wonder where the saying raining cats and dogs originated. And if it's from that terrible song, I'm going to be a little disappointed.

"You can't go in there." I'm pretty sure I am experiencing déjà vu. "She has a new noon." What? It's only been two days. I mean, is she in that much demand? And if so I am shifting the curve. Shut up, Davies. One semester of micro economics and you think you're a big shot. Remember that one time you thought you could trade bonds? Yeah, hang the head in shame. The point of the matter is this is my time slot. That is my doc. And I want her back.

"It'll just take a second." If she can't catch me when I'm drunk she sure isn't going to be able to catch me when I am sober. These legs were made for running. Trust me; they've had a lot of practice. She's sitting behind her desk writing. Hey, she never writes things down when I talk. Should I resent that? Seriously? She replaced me with that? Oh, come on, Doc, you could do better than that. You can do better than me. "You." Stop laying all over Hank. He does not like fat middle aged men. You are so not his type. "I'll give you a thousand dollars to get lost." I hope he doesn't drive too hard a bargain I only brought four thousand.

She's standing now in front of poor Hank. Poor Hank is always in the cross fire. She even teleports in front of this guy. Maybe I should just cut him a little. Screw the money. "Ashley, you can't just come in here and bribe my patients." I don't see why not. It is kind of, semi, a free country.

Just ignore her, Davies. You know, like the way she does you. "Two thousand if you never come back."

He stands nearly knocking the doc over in the progress. Stupid oaf. Cutting is looking better and better. "You got a deal." Idiot. The doc's time is worth more than that. Someone should really teach him the dynamics of supply and demand.

"Here." Go buy yourself some hair plugs or something.

He greedily grabs the hundreds from my hands. "Thanks." Just be happy if you've never seen a nearly fifty year old, three hundred pound, man skip. It's not pretty. Remind me not to offer large supplies of money to one ever again. And to get that hypnotized out of my brain. I hear they can do that nowadays.

I'm so lucky that looks can't kill. Well, I'd be dead a long time before this, so I guess, I'm not all that lucky in this particular moment. "What?" She's going to take the stun off the lasers soon, Davies. At least I'll go down in style. Who doesn't want their cause of death to be listed as lasers? "It's not my fault money runs the world." It is my fault that I use it to my advantage as much as possible. Got to use what you have. I was told that's in the Bible somewhere. Can't argue with that.

She's biting at her lip now. Who knows what kind of super powers she could be ready to unleash. You really did it this time, didn't you? "It's your fault when you barge into my office and bribe my patients?" Not really, I turned off my brain and heart and stuff. If you're going to blame anyone, it should be yourself. Last time I checked you owned my limbs and organs. Couldn't get here without them.

Yeah, pot calling the kettle black, Bugs Moran. "I got bribery from you, Doc." Like a plethora of other things.

"You need to go." Well, that's a little presumptuous. Who is she to talk about need? Who is she to talk about what I need?

"No I don't." And I walk closer to her. She needs to understand. I didn't climb up eleven flights of stairs for nothing.

"Ashley." Shut up, heart, we still aren't talking. We aren't talking because of this very situation. "I need you to go." But why, Doc?

"I need you, Spencer." And I know you know that, just like I know you're the first thing I've ever actually needed.

"We talked about this." I guess I missed that part.

"No. You talked about this." And then walked away. Walked away again. Walked away like I meant nothing.

"Ashley –"

"It's my turn to talk, Doc."

"Ashley –"

"I'm not letting you push me away." We are face to face now. I can smell her breath and I can feel her breath slightly against my face, and I'd never complain about a thing like that. "I won't be pushed away." I can tell she is going to walk away, but I can't, I won't let her. I grab her hands and hold them firmly in my not too big hands, and she doesn't fight me. She doesn't fight me for once. "This is where I belong." And I point to Spencer's heart with our hands still entwined. Because that's the only place I can imagine being. That's the only place worth being. It's the only place when I dream. "Right here." And I need her to understand.

"I annoyed you a couple of weeks ago."

I step closer. "You still annoy me."

"You should go." I should stay.

"I can't sleep, Doc."

"I can prescribe you something."

"I just need you." I lay my forehead against hers, because really it was just too tired to carry anymore, it's all just too heavy. "You're eyes are the most beautiful thing I've ever seen." Because if she's going to run again, I just don't think I can keep up this time, and I want to make sure, that even if she is far away, she'll always know that. Because it's the first thing I think of, and will be the last thing I think of, and no one tells her enough. "It might be cliché, but you take my breath away." She always has. "All the time." Every second of every day.

"I can't do this." But I still don't know what this is.

"Do what, Doc?"

"I just…" But I don't hear, I don't hear her voice, because there is no sound, nothing. All there is is everything, everything breathing in time with me to the point that I'm sure that there's only one set of lungs between us, but I don't know how because I'm sure that my heart has stopped beating; I'm sure it has stopped functioning because I hear that that's the only way to reach heaven, and I'm sure if this isn't heaven then there is no heaven, just this angel, this angel pushing the ocean into my soul with her lips. The lips that she has placed on mine. And this time I'm aware, I'm so aware.

And it takes me a moment, a moment to memorize the slight curve of her lips and the way her nose gently brushes hope against my face, before my lips unfreeze to push back. And her mouth moves against mine, and it's slow and languished, like maybe she's memorizing too. And our lips dance, dance like we did once, unsure but wanting, and I'm scared now, like I was then, that I'll never let go, because our lips are fusing together, so close together, from the pure heat that she exhumes, and I'm so unaware whose mouth opened first, but blissfully unaware, because the only thing worth knowing is she tastes like cinnamon, but so much more, she tastes like stars and smiles and all those dreams I've been missing while I couldn't sleep.

And her arms are wrapped around my neck and her hands are through my hair, trailing the paths she burned there long before today, paths that are just for her. And my arms are around her waist holding on, holding on so tight, because there's absolutely no other way to hold dreams of the ocean, to hold an everything. And I'm opening my eyes for just a second, just for a second to make sure that it's really her, really her and not another dream that has me crying at the end, because waking up is so painful, and I realize she's beautiful even with eyes hid away even when I can't see much of her. Because it's really all of her. And I realize that I am going to be forever jealous of her reflection and her shadows and the wind and everything, everything that gets to steal glances of perfection. Because that's what I am sighing into, that's what my heart has stopped beating for, all for my perfection.

And I really don't think my legs can hold me up much longer. They've always been weak when it came to her, and I push her down onto Hank, but it's more like I lead her down because it's unlikely that I could ever push her. And it's so cold the moments that are lips are apart but she pulls me back down, and I've never been so happy to be pulled anywhere in my life, and I'm sure I'd let her pull me anywhere, and I'd go blindfolded if she asked, and I'd never ask, I'll never ask because we just are, we are just here. And I'm hovering over her because I'm so terrified, so terrified that my weight will be too much for her, just too much, and she'll open her eyes, and I'll know it's over. But again she pulls and I am more than happy to oblige, and I'm pretty sure my skin has disappeared somewhere because it feels like we're more soul to soul than skin to skin, and I think that's a beautiful thing to be.

And my hands are traveling, traveling on their own accord, but I'm sure she asked for it in the moan she elicited when my leg fell between hers, and I can feel my experienced hands shake like newborns, because really they are, they've never been near anything like this, not many things have. And they slide, they slide under barriers they never thought they would, and touch porcelain, or so it would seem, but soft, perfect porcelain, and I can feel her breaths and heart beats in sync as my hands relish over her stomach, over her stomach, because my hands are too inexperienced to touch anywhere else, or maybe I'm just too afraid, too afraid, of eyes opening.

And she's biting my bottom lip and pulling me closer, and I feel like there is so much more space I can be pulled even with these barriers of skin, and my air is getting harder and harder to come by. "I'm getting married." I can hear her mumble against my lips, but she makes no attempt to pull them away. "I have a baby." But she's still kissing me. Kissing me stronger than any hello kiss could ever be and more passionately than any goodbye kiss will ever be.

And I know, I know she is asking me to do it, because maybe it'll hurt her a little bit too, and maybe I'm the strong one for once, maybe she needs me too, maybe she needs me to do this for her. So I pull away, but I don't move far, because that would just be too hard, and I just couldn't do it if I tried. I hover, I hover above the entirety of what matters in my life. Because I'd do anything for her. And I whisper the one thing that's been in my mind since I entered this room, "I love you, Spencer."

And I know she's crying, and I know, I know it's because of what I said, but not because of me. Because words like love don't hurt all by themselves, words like love only hurt with every other thing attached. And she pulls me down again, but our lips don't meet. She's hugging me close to her as she cries, and I am ready to allow my shoulders to absorb any tear that falls from those eyes, because really, my shoulders have belonged to her since the first day her head claimed them. "I'm so sorry, Ashley." She says but makes no effort to untangle our bodies.

"You should be." And I feel her stiffen beneath me, making me smile because I can feel it at all. "Giving my session time to an aging fat man. I'm much better eye candy."

"Ashley, I – "

"Save it for dinner, Doc." Because I know for a fact that mocha was instant, and even if it was good, mochas made from instant never beat mochas made with amazing machines of deliciousness. It's a rule of life.

"Dinner?"

"Yeah, that mocha was terrible." I'd probably say that no matter what at this point, though.

She laughs and it vibrates through me and I feel even more entwined in arms that I'll spend days in the company of their shadow touch. "Oh is that so?" I nod, caressing her hair with my chin. In all fairness, everything seems terrible right now but this. "How's tomorrow at eight sound to you?"

Like I've never heard a better offer in my life. "Perfect." Just like you, Doc.

She shifts and I know my times up. Don't wreck this, Davies. So I stand. I let go of that warmth, because she needs it too, you know. I can't hog it forever. "Time's up?" And she smiles at me, from the couch, like she's grateful, and I don't know how she doesn't know that I'd do anything to make her smile like that. Even face the cold.

She nods at me, but makes no movement to leave the couch. Poor Hank. We molested him a little. Whatever, he's a man, he probably enjoyed it. Still, I should write him a thank you/apology card later. Or have Charles do it. He already thinks I'm crazy. "I'll see you tomorrow, Ashley."

"I'll pick you up." Because I don't think you'd be safe if you came over again. I don't think I'd be safe. "We'll go somewhere nice, or something."

"That sounds nice."

"That's because it's time with me."

"Maybe." Okay, stop smiling like Christmas came early, and move. And no, not towards her, towards the door, you dimwit. "Alright, yeah." The door, Davies. "Bye, Doc."

"I'll see you soon." And I finally reach the door and I'm out it, even though really I'm still in it. And I smile at Skyla Barker as I exit the office, because really, it's just a beautiful day, even if my hair is still wet, even if the butterflies are still endangered, even if my interest rates are going to rise.

It's just a beautiful day because every raindrop that falls on my head, as I walk the two miles home, tells me that I'm still alive, so alive, and I can barely feel them at all, because all of my senses are still living in ten minute increments, where I am sure I was in a place, the only place that matters, the place where dreams live and breathe and are free.


	22. Never Knew

**Never Knew.**

"Please, Charles." He's getting sick pleasure off of this.

"I don't understand why you can't go to the door yourself." You wouldn't. You've never seen the horrors that lie behind that door. It's just not pretty.

Because I'm trying to quit the habit of idiot speech and if Aiden opens the door I'll have to regress. "I don't want to." Oh, that, and I might be taken to jail for manslaughter if I have to see the stupid rock. Wait, scratch that. He's missing the whole man part of manslaughter. Rockslaughter sounds a lot cooler anyways. I bet you get fewer years for that. "Who signs your paychecks?" Though, don't even ask me why anymore.

"Your sexy lawyer." I need to make a no employee dating rule. I feel that there is a lot less chance for a mutiny that way. Would it be mutiny or treason? Either way it's bad.

I roll my eyes, well, because treason sounds bad, and because he's just a smartass. Whatever, I have more important things to deal with. "Freddy, will you do it for me?"

"Sure, why not." That was way too fast of a response. Remember why you didn't ask him to begin with, Davies. Him and his wandering eyes. And I think it's illegal to blind your employees. I wonder if I can find a blindfold really quick. Why did I never take up the layer look? This would be a lot easier.

"And keep your eyes to yourself, Frederick." I'll be watching you. He opens the door. That better not have been a smirk. He closes the door. No, I know that was a smirk. Whatever happened to respect your superiors, or well, your boss? Isn't that a saying? How about, do not look at boss' shrink or she'll hurt your manhood? Is that a saying? Well, it should be.

"Are all straight men so eager to please?" Well, definitely not in bed. And hey, he better not be eager to please. Damnit, I knew I should have warned about hands to self as well. Stupid, Davies.

"It matters who's asking." I've never had a problem with it, personally.

He leans forward in the seat, towards me. I hate when he clicks his tongue like that. I know he knows it too. Ugh, men. "You know, I thought I told you no more psychiatrists." Well, you are in luck; she's not a psychiatrist she's a mind reader. There is a total difference there.

I don't think he'll believe that course of thinking. Whatever, I'd never give away her secret identity anyways. "She's special." Wow, way to sound like Madison. Why don't you just go bump into some knives or something? Go out Brutus style. I hear Brutus was an okay guy. As long as you don't ask Dante. Okay, it's official, way too much drunken Wikipedia for me.

"She's also engaged." But to an inanimate object. It almost doesn't count. Right? Yeah, just keep telling yourself that. What's your mantra? She kissed me. Good. "And dying." Ugh, my mantra is no good against that one.

Whatever, he's always been a prick. That's why I like him. Right? Anyways, she said it, cancer doesn't always equal dying. She said it. "She's not dying." If you can't take a super genius's word, whose can you?

Have I mentioned I hate when people sigh at me? To begin with, it uses up entirely too much of my oxygen wastefully. Whatever, I'm sure some trees or something, somewhere, will get a feast on all the carbon dioxide he's wasting. "We're all dying." He sits back into his seat. And the critics call me emo? It must be contagious.

"Could you get any more depressing?" I'm sure he could make puppies cry. Though, why would anyone want to make puppies cry? Puppies are just so cute. Especially those miniature ones, but not the ones with all the hair, oh, and not the ones with the beady eyes. Beady eyes are very suspicious, you know.

"If I tried." Well, I'll try to make sure not to give him a reason to try. I'm doing well on the depression front without him. "Just be careful, Ash." There's only so careful you can be when you hang out with people who have laser vision. Just saying. Oh, remember the super strength. Yeah, that too.

"She just makes me want to be better, you know?" He doesn't need an explanation, Davies. Maybe you should get yourself a dictionary and highlight the words employee and employer. You're really slipping.

Charles nods. "I know." He knows? Is it that obvious that I am Spencer-whipped? At least she hasn't branded me yet.

No, do not bring up branding. Have you completely lost it? "How are things with Greg?"More commonly known as my amazing guru of the American law system. If I didn't find him pompous, I'd hug him every day.

"Shaky." Shaky? There are a lot of adjectives to describe relationships and shaky is one I'll never really understand. Why shaky? It just makes me want to go to Steak and Shake. And my personal trainer has banned Steak and Shake.

"Just don't crush my lawyer before the new album comes out." It turns out you need them to be on their game at that time. Who knew? I thought they were just there to get me out of trouble. But, it turns out, people will find anything to sew you over. Anything. Like I guess someone's house is in my last album cover, and if you use a magnifying glass you can almost, semi, see it in the left corner. I guess they didn't like that. "It's way too much trouble finding a new one in short notice." Especially in LA. I guess they're in high demand.

"You could always just tell Fed you have a huge crush on him." Crush sounds too innocent for the thoughts I know run through Charles's head. I really think he likes to get me drunk so he can watch Fred carry me. It's just a theory. But it's a lot better than thinking I get that drunk all by myself. That's right. There are ulterior motives involved. I'm not complaining.

"No one over the age of fifteen get crushes." I guess he's thinking the same thing as me. But 'have the hots for' sounds so 90's, and I couldn't think of a better way to put it. 'Want to sex him up' sounds kind of crude. Even for me. And I don't want to use the word fuck in the same sentence as either of them. I'll work on it.

"You know what I mean." Or, I'll take the easy way out. I don't feel like thinking.

"And why don't you tell the sexy shrink you're in love with her?" Just because you like to chase after men doesn't mean you get to call her sexy, you overzealous… something.

"Already did." So wipe that smug smirk off your face. I'm so beating you. "Four times."

"You're keeping count?" It's kind of hard not to. I mean, memories like that burn themselves inside you.

Whatever, he'll never understand. "Shut up, Charlie." Could you sound anymore lame? What is with you and the world lame lately?

"Well?"

Am I missing something? "Well, what?"

"What did she say?" Say? Absolutely nothing. Thanks for rubbing it in. These are my wounds this is a salt/iodine mixture. Please, please rub harshly.

But, I am so not telling him that. "That's none of your business." Obviously, she doesn't think it's any of my business either. She's so tricky.

"Well, here comes the princess now." Breathe Davies, breathe. If you hyperventilate in front of him he'll never let you live it down.

I watch as the door opens and Spencer climbs in, smiling. How can she enter a limo so gracefully? I wonder if she teaches lessons. "Hi guys."

Wait, wait. What is she wearing? Okay, close your mouth to begin with. No, seriously, do it. Now, squint your eyes a little, eyes as big as saucers are usually pretty suspicious looking. Who said she could wear a skirt and such a form fitting shirt? I know I didn't. Don't I get a say? "Fred better have kept his eyes to himself," I mumble because I can't help it, because he better have, or that's so it for him. I'm sure he's on his three-hundredth strike or something.

Don't head tilt me, Doc, when I am still trying to recover. "What?" What? You're trying to kill me. That's what.

"It's good to see you again, Princess." I wonder how he feels about being pushed out of a moving vehicle. I hope he knows how to tuck and roll. What am I talking about? Of course he knows how.

"Princess?" Now, pushed out of a car lit on fire. That would be an even more amazing feat.

Or, I'll just settle with glaring viciously at him. At least a word like vicious sounds pretty painful. "How's life, Doc?" What? She's more interesting than hm.

"Oh, better now." Brush off the shoulders, Davies. "I was working with a sixteen year old heroin addict." Well, I guess, at least I beat the teenage druggies of the world? Can't you ever cut me some slack? "I don't even know where they get it at that age." Seriously? Getting it is the easy part.

"I wonder how they pay for it." It's an expensive hobby. I mean seriously big bucks. Don't look at me like that, Doc. I speak the truth. "What? It's expensive." I don't control the supply and demand for drugs in the US, Doc, you can lower the lasers. And expensive drugs are better than cheap ones, aren't they?

I hear Charles coughing. "You're an idiot." I resent that, thank you very much. Only I can call myself an idiot.

I can feel her trying to stifle her laugh through her very bare leg brushing up against mine. She is trying to kill me. It's official. At least I can come up with worse ways to die. "So where are we going?" Huh? If you wanted coherent thoughts from me all night, Doc, you should have rethought your wardrobe. Just saying.

"Le Sous-sol Du Chef." You should definitely get your vocal cords a gold star for that one. I didn't think they'd come through. Focus, Davies, focus.

"That's really expensive." Now, how is it fair that you get to point out expensive things? I feel that I was mistreated back there.

"It was a terrible mocha." Which translates to, 'You look beautiful tonight, Doc, but I'm scared to tell you because if you smile at me for that comment, I won't be able to take my eyes off you the rest of the night, and that could get awkward for you, and Charles would probably make fun of me a little.'

"I don't have the money." Huh, what?

"I'm paying." I have nothing else to spend my money on, and my accountant informed me that purchasing an elephant is a bad investment choice. "You paid for the drinks on Wednesday."

"I wouldn't fight with her." See, Freddy is good for something. What a smart boy. "She has a habit of winning." This doesn't mean you are forgiven yet, Fredrick, but you are so gaining a place back in my good graces.

"Really, we just don't want to hear it." And then Charles has to be all blunt and honest. Whatever, he's just jealous that he's not the winner.

"So, will you two be joining us?" You really think I'd share you with these dimwits, Doc? Or anyone for that matter.

"No." Okay, maybe that was way too rapid of a response. Way to sound, sound something, but it isn't a good thing, Davies.

I know Charles is laughing at me in the inside. Why? Because if it was him, I'd be laughing at him. "We're going to Intrepid." To drink on my tab. The mooches.

"After I get you safely in the building." Who needs you when you have a super hero with laser vision? You are so unneeded. "Charles is going to teach me how to dance." I bet he is. A wink is needed in Charles' direction.

"As long as he's not going to teach you how to drink." Drunk chauffeurs aren't always the best chauffeurs.

"If I wanted those lessons I'd come to you." Oh, touché, Freddy. He's getting better at this. It' about time after four years.

Charles mouths burn in my direction. I can tell he likes it. Or, at least, the Doc likes it by the way she's giggling. Oh, come on, Doc; don't let him make you laugh. "Whatever."

And cue the extenuated silence.

"We have paparazzi." Figures. They love me. Maybe the doc should talk to them.

"How many?" Does it matter?

"Three or four."

We should run them over. Steal versus flesh. I believe we'd win. "And no, we cannot run them over." I guess I get that idea a lot. I feel the car come to a halt in front of the restaurant. "Dr. Carlin, just smile and walk. Pretend like they aren't there." Oh right. The doc hasn't done this dog and pony show before. Three or four can't hurt her. I'm sure she could crush them with her eyes anyways.

I watch as she nods. I'm pretty sure she's not really afraid of anything. Fred opens the back door and we both climb out. Her more gracefully than I. "Shall we ladies?" Are you seriously offering both of us your arm? I think it's illegal to have a pimp on the payroll.

Stop laughing at him Doc, and stop grabbing at his arm. I'll so fire the lot of you. Just roll your eyes, Davies. You aren't going to win this one. "Just move." I grab his arm too because they're watching, and they like to spin everything I do. Usually makes me laugh in the morning, but I know it won't if the doc is involved.

Why don't they make flashes that don't burn retinas? You'd think technology would progress that much. Oh well. Ah, the smell of fancy, French restaurant. Why do they always smell like spices? Spices that you never taste in their dishes. Oh well. "Anything else?" Yeah, how about you go take a cold shower, asshole.

"No, I'll call you when we need to be picked up." Just go.

"Alright then." He turns to leave.

Stupid prick. "Hey Fred."

He turns towards me. "Yeah?"

"Be careful." Charles's crowd will probably eat him alive. I'm kind of attached to him. He can get from one side of the city to the next in less than a half an hour. It's an amazing feat.

Don't wink at me, just because I'm attached to you doesn't mean I like you. Jerk. "Will do." Yeah, you better leave.

"He's lively." Is that what they call it nowadays?

"If that's a euphemism for annoying." I can never keep with the popular euphemisms anymore.

"You think everyone's annoying." Well, I think I am onto something. Just roll the eyes. They obviously need exercise.

I walk up to the hostess. Her name tag says her name is Candy. What a coincidence, that's my new name for when I'm drunk. I can tell we have a lot in common. "I have reservations."

"Of course, Ms. Davies." Hey, hey, keep your eyes up here, ma'am. This is a family restaurant. I think. I can never keep up with the whole family scene either. "Right this way." She's have nice legs if my eyes hadn't already been tainted with perfect legs.

She shows us to the table and I pull out the doc's chair before she can get to it. Woman named Candy with traveling eyes shouldn't touch the doc's chair, even if they are dressed up. And they definitely don't deserve the air stealing smile I just got. But, I guess they can be tipped a little. What? She has good taste. Sometimes that pays. She winks at me before she walks away. Her and Freddy would probably get along. I take my seat facing the doc. Best view I could ever ask for. "She wasn't annoying." Well, except the part where she thought she could pull out your chair.

"That's because she was drooling all over you." Oh, you noticed, Doc?

"I can't help if good taste isn't annoying." You should try it sometime. "And I hate drool, Doc." It's up there with all other bodily liquids. Well, all but a few.

"Okay, she was panting after you." You really did notice.

"I can do panting." I can really do panting. "What happened to not every girl likes girls?" You're enjoying this way too much, Davies.

She shrugs, but before I can indulge myself further, the waiter approaches us carrying a bottle of merlot. "Vin?" I don't drink house wine.

"Pouvez-vous nous apporter du pinot noir?" I remember this one time a waiter brought me pinot gringo instead. I felt bad for him afterwards, but in my defense, they're completely different colors. And if you're color blind you shouldn't be a waiter, or something. Or that's how my lawyer spun it later.

"Certainement." He leaves. I wonder why certainly in French sounds so much like containment in English. Well, a little bit, if you strain your ears and tilt your head to your left.

"You speak French?" Of course I do. It's the language of lust. Come on, Doc.

"And German."Definitely far from the language of lust. It's just so angry. But I wanted to learn it because it sounds so demanding. Which it is. Who can ignore you when every word sounds painful to articulate, like your mouth might start bleeding? No one. "Impressed, Doc?" You have issues, Davies, are you looking for a gold star?

"It takes a lot of commitment to learn a language." Tell me about it. And it turns out listening to it while you sleep is a lot less effective than one would think. Now, foreign cartoons. I can always count on them.

"Can't hit on the ladies unless I know their language." Trust me, I've tried. They don't take hand signals well, and it turns out English isn't exactly the language of wooing.

"And what about the men?" Men love the hand signals and when you can't understand what they are saying.

"You don't need language to get them in bed." Just a vagina and, at times, an okay looking face or body. Both is a plus, but unnecessary.

"You don't have a very good view of men." I only call them like I see them. Seen them millions of times. I only speak the truth. The truth will set you free and all that garbage.

"I have enough of a view." See look, I'm smiling at our waiter, and he looks like he has a penis. Though, in truth, only five percent of the smile is for him, the other ninety-five is for the bottle of wine in his hands. But, five percent is better than no percent.

"Votre vin." You're wasting that wine in her glass. Oh well. Maybe I'll get lucky and she'll loosen up. Aw, he didn't splash. See, now the smile is ten percent for him. I hate when they splash. Those are perfectly good droplets that will never make it to my blood stream. Really, we should feel bad for them. "Par ce que vous aiment commencer?"

It seems her super powers have limitations. Triply noted. "L'anglais, S'il Vous Plaît."

"Can I interest either of you in any hors d'œuvres?" I never understood the whole course part of dinner. Maybe I just do it wrong. I'm never hungry by the main course.

"Whatever you want, Doc." Really, whatever you want.

"Can we have an order of calamari, please?" I really should have said anything that didn't once have tentacles.

"Calamari?" Why does the euphemism have to sound so delicious?

"You told me to pick." Yes, but that was before I remembered that you have terrible taste. Who wants someone with a banshee as her best friend picking their food? That's what I thought.

"Well, I didn't think you'd pick squid." Just the word squid makes me squirmy.

"It's good." No orgasms are good. Squid is rather disconcerting. And gross. Did I mention gross?

"More like rubber." And not the fun, bouncy rubber, like bouncy balls. No, the sticky, gross rubber, like latex, or something.

"Well, what do you want?" You, but we aren't on that subject.

"Brushetta." I can see nothing wrong with delicious bread topped with tasty treats.

"I hate tomatoes." That's not possible.

"Who hates tomatoes?" Who hates tomatoes but likes squid? This is pretty much solid proof that she's not of this world. It could stand up in court I'm sure. "They're like a universal food."They are a vital ingredient in all foods that matter, for example: spaghetti sauce, chili, and many foods of lesser importance.

"Tomatoes, peppers and onions." Just add chocolate to the list and you've eliminated three fourths of my entire diet. Congratulations, Doc.

"Do you ever eat then?" I knew I should have brought her those donuts that one time. I'm pretty sure none of that stuff is in donuts. Well, normal, happy donuts. Who knows with those 'designer' donuts nowadays, though. Everything is designer lately.

"There is food without that stuff in it." Yeah, like your rubbery squid.

"Not good food." I just thought of something very crucial. "You can't eat salsa." This is pretty much a travesty. "Everything tastes better with salsa." Everything. It could be worse. I could be Kyla. She puts ranch dressing on everything. Pizza and mac and cheese included.

"I can eat salsa as long as it's not chunky." But chunky salsa is like chunky ambrosia. This really is a travesty. "I just like the juice."

"You're so weird. The sauce is still the food." Why does sauce sounds dirty? Stupid pop culture turning all innocent word's connotations dirty. I think it's its master plan. Catcher, scissor, cowgirl. They're getting away with it too.

"No, it tastes okay blended." A lot of things taste good blended. That's why I love blenders. I could be blenders' biggest fan.

"Excuse me, I'm sorry for interrupting." Well, then don't. "But can I interest you two in any hors d'œuvre or no?" Oh, right.

Just pick something, Davies. "Yes, the canapé." It kind of sort of sounds like cannoli. If you pretend. Nothing can be that wrong with something that kind of sounds like delicious Italian deserts.

"Very good." Do all French men have to have a swagger? They must be taught it at an early age.

"Doesn't that come with caviar?" You've got to be kidding me. That's worse than squid. But better than squid eggs. I bet squid eggs have tentacles too.

"Wait. What?"Maybe you should learn to read the fine print. Greg is always saying to. Yeah, well, Greg says a lot of things to hear himself talk. Why are all my employees male, anyways? I should really look into that.

"Too late now." Ugh. It's the karma thing again.

"Well, it sounded delicious." They better have some serious cannoli action for desert. I don't care if it's Italian. The French should just learn to appreciate that at times the Italians so trump them.

"Names can be deceiving I guess." Says the girl with the boy's name.

"I always judge a book by its title." Not that I do many books. "How else are you supposed to?" Because they say not to judge it by its cover. Which severely limits the judging process.

"The inside of the book jacket?" The books I buy don't generally have book jackets, Doc. Yours excluded. "That's what they are there for." And here I am thinking they're there to keep the book safe.

"Nah." I'm so right on this one. "Think about it, Doc, would you rather read a book called Moby Dick or one called Playing for Pizza?" I believe the answer is pretty clear.

"Moby Dick is a classic." Classically boring. It seems to be a pre requisite with things like that.

"So is pizza." And I'm pretty sure it came first. "And Moby Dick just sounds dirty." And not just because of Moby's terrible music.

"You know, we were assigned it in English junior year." How could I forget? Those were some of the best school naps I ever got.

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean I read it." Or even bought it.

"You seemed to know it okay." That's because I am an amazing bullshitter. I pride myself on it. Except at that game. Stupid game. There's something about cards. They hate me.

"Cliff notes. The cliff note company loved me. I probably own their entire collection." I'm pretty sure I received a thank you note from them at some point in time. "How do you remember that, Doc?"

"You fought with me over the motif of whiteness." Wait. What? That couldn't have been her. Could it? Quiet, corner, hoodie girl was a cheerleader? And amazingly hot? Liz said she thought she'd have a hot body under that three size too large hoodie, and I said that you wouldn't be able to see it around her big head. And then we laughed. What? Our class alone was a thousand kids, how was I to know?

"That was you?" I knew my instincts knew she was annoying for a reason. Didn't Liz say she was the top of our class once? Figures. I can definitely see the doc being valedictorian material. It's like in the super genius handbook. "I had it on good regard that I was right." She argued with me for almost the entire class period. And it was a Monday. I was in serious need for a nap. I'm still feeling a little resentful.

"Anything with note at the end of it is not a reliable source." Why does she have to mess with Spark Notes too? Is nothing sacred to her?

"Whatever." Aw, she's smiling. I guess I can forgive her. I mean. I didn't really need the beauty sleep anyways.

She's so lucky I kind of find that smile endearing. "You do know Playing for Pizza is about football, right?" Did I mention kind of?

"What!" No, I lied before, this, right here, this is a travesty. "How misleading." You do know you just lost a lot, right, Davies?

"You would have known if you would have read the book jacket." And she knows it too. Way to go in for the kill, Doc. You're ruthless.

"You're annoying." But you're the only one that it looks good on.

"No, just right." Like always. I so had it right in high school. Or, I didn't because I must have missed those ocean eyes. And I have no idea how.

A plate being placed between us interrupts me from my starring. It's getting to be a bad habit. "Here is your canapé." They look like miniature jelly eyeballs kind of. Would a squid trump a jellyfish? I wonder if Wikipedia has the answer. "What can I get you for your main course?" Something that can't be described as rubbery or slimy.

"I'll have the lobster. Thank you." What is with her and disgusting sea food? Lobsters look at you with their beady eyes and giant claws and bright red skin, screaming look at me I'm cooler than you. But really, they're not. They're pretty much gross. Gross with claws.

"And for your soup?"

"Oh, just the lobster, thank you." I knew I liked her for a reason. She understands the unnecessaryness of multi-courses.

"What is with you and gross sea animals?" Gross sea animals with awkward extremities.

"They taste good?" Don't worry, Doc, I'm sure they do taste bud transplants now. I'll schedule one for next week. The sooner the better for your stomach.

"I'll have the chicken cor don bleu." Chicken, ham and cheese. What could be better than that? With wine sauce. Anything with wine and chicken sounds good to me. "Uh, that's it too." What, Doc? "Thank you." Whatever. All he did was write something down. It's not like it's hard.

"You have a thing for chicken." Who doesn't have a thing for chicken? Okay, he doesn't have a thing for chicken who hasn't seen the KFC chicken video? I've avoided it all costs. They even have a brand of vegetarian that accepts the chicken is heavenly, and they cannot deny it.

"It's universal."

"Like disgusting tomatoes?" I know nothing of disgusting tomatoes just delicious tomatoes. That reminds of the amazingness of Fried Green Tomatoes actually being about lesbians. Charles told me yesterday. And I thought I was just imagining the extreme sexual tension in that movie.

"Everything tastes like chicken, might as well eat the real thing." I take no substitutes or something along those lines. Though, I had rattle snake once, and it sure didn't taste like chicken, even though the guy promised it would. He was a little offended when I spat his food out. I was a little offended he lied to me.

"I guess that's a way to look at it." The only way to look at it.

"Everything but disgusting sea food." Disgusting sea food tastes more like, well, what things with tentacles and claws should taste like.

"You're the one that ordered the bread with caviar all over it." Hey, it clearly should have been entitled what it was and then we wouldn't have this problem. Why can't food names be more descriptive? I mean, what if some unsuspecting person ordered calamari. They'd be really upset when someone put fried tentacles in front of them. Well, unless they're the doc. And how about hot dogs. Think about it.

"Honest mistake."

"What do you think someone was thinking when they spread fish eggs all over bread?" I wonder how many idiots will actually eat this? I wonder how many idiots will actually eat this and believe me if I call it a delicacy?

"I just don't get how that stuff can cost up to a hundred dollars a spoon full." I've seen cheaper bottles of Chateau Margaux.

"It's no Hormel chili, huh?" I tell her way too much stuff.

"Can't you turn off your super genius brain, ever?"

"Not possible."

"Just like to annoy me?"

"Always." I really wish I had some more always from you, Doc.

"Hey doc?"

"Yeah?"

Just leave it tonight, Davies. "Are you my brain ninja again?" Or not.

"I'd make a terrible ninja." I doubt it. You have the whole lithe body with the whole I can karate chop your mind thing going on. It be hot. And I'd love to watch you throw a guy across the room.

That's not the point, Davies. "You know what I mean."

"Ashley – "

I know that tone. I hate that tone. "Here's the thing." What's the thing? "If I am going to have mind voo-doo performed, I really only want it to be you." Because really, I only go through my weeks anymore to see you, and they give me a good reason to do so. "You're the only person I feel comfortable talking to." What? She probably wouldn't have taken well to the prior statement.

"I don't know if it's a good idea." Neither was this dinner, but you agreed to it anyways.

"Just give me a chance, please?" I'm always just begging you for a chance.

"Well, we'll see how it goes this week." Does the world uncommitted mean anything to you, Doc? And I thought I was the champion. "I'm going out of town next week." Out of town? Like out of driving distance? And why wasn't I consulted? What happened to, I go to the office even though I'm sick because the crazies need me?

"Why, Doc?"

"I'm going to Chicago." Didn't anyone tell her you shouldn't mix the ocean with dirty, polluted lakes? I know who we should blame for this, and no it isn't Bush for once.

"It's really cold there right now." Like, challenge liquid nitrogen to a duel cold.

"Well, Aiden – "

Just, don't mention his name, Doc. "I mean super cold. I hear they have snow all over." I'm sure you could suffocate or something if you fell in a snow pile, I mean, what if you hit your head? I'm sure the snow isn't very compassionate. Think about it, Doc. It could happen to you.

"I loved snow when I was little." Which just backs up my earlier thesis of evilness running in your family, Doc.

"How could you love something so cold and angry?" Angry and relentless. Two not very nice adjectives.

"Snow isn't angry." She's obviously never been acquainted with what I like to call the black ice of doom. Yes, of doom. When it's of doom it's pretty bad.

"It sure can be." Hasn't she ever seen the movie Jack Frost? Who's to say that isn't based on a real story? You just never know. "It's deadly and it tries to disguise itself with its white exterior. It's just like Moby Dick." Now, why couldn't I have come up with that analogy ten years ago? Damnit.

"You were wrong then." I was never wrong then, just ask me then. She'll tell you. "You're wrong now." Now, now is a different story. You like to dropkick my mind a lot, Doc. I don't know if I'd recognize anymore if I was right or wrong. But, for the sake of dignity, let's just say I'm always right now too. "And snow is magical." Magical? Is she going to Chicago to prance with the snow fairies?

"Says the fantasy writer." She's been writing those books a little too long.

"And what is the snow as a troubled rock star?" Troubled? Hey.

"Angry balls of pure rage raining down upon us." Like acid. But worse. Because it kills you from the inside. Or some shit like that.

"That's deep." Don't raise your eyebrows at me, Doc.

"That's why I live in LA." At least when acid rains down on you, you call it acid rain. No pretending there.

"You don't want balls of rage hitting you on the head?"

"Pretty much." I remember Liz throwing a snowball at her once, that one time we had a class trip to the mountains. I went because Liz went, and she couldn't find someone to throw it at. So she just picked the next person to exit the lodge. The doc lost that one, a little. "Doc, you know I was a fuck up on high school, right?" So fucked up that I can remember two of you, and they aren't the same. There's quiet, hoodie Spencer. And then there's best friends with Madison, leaning against her locker, but still quiet, Spencer. And now all I can think about is both of them as the memories come back to me.

"What do you mean?" You know what I mean. I still am convinced you can read my mind, Doc. I haven't given up on that yet. No matter how many times you try to get me off your trail.

"I mean, I didn't love anything in high school." Not even myself. And I liked myself better than I liked anyone else. "I'm pretty sure I couldn't have." I just didn't know how.

"You know, Madison told me all about you my first day at King." Oh, God. I can only imagine that conversation. 'See that girl. Yeah, she's a leper. Oh wait. They call them lesbians now. Well, whatever, same thing. Hee hee.' Insert hair twirl here.

"I can only imagine that conversation." I'm sure this part was left out, 'Oh, but she gave me multiple, count them, multiple, orgasms.' Don't worry, I got tested afterwards.

"We talked about you a lot actually." Define a lot.

"Well, I am great conversation starter." Well, more interesting than anything else Madison's pea brain could probably come up with.

"Aiden talked about you a lot too." No surprise there. Aiden has three conversations, him, the girls he's done, and sports.

"Couldn't escape me, huh?" Kind of, a little bit like right now.

"And then I was friends with your sister."

"Damn, Doc." You really know how to find the people that annoy me the most, don't you? Was it like a scavenger hunt? "You had the whole Ashley fan club."

"Fan club is a way to put it." So I guess they didn't exactly issue an 'I heart Ashley' t-shirt. That's alright. I have a pretty awesome fan club now. And only four of them do I have restraining orders on.

"Your food, madams."

"Thank you."

Ugh, don't give me that look again, Doc. "Yeah, thanks."

"We need to work on your manners." Yes, well, you haven't been introduced to my bedroom manners. I promise you they're much more distinguished.

"It's his job." It's not like he cooked the food.

You do know starring at someone while they eat is creepy, right Davies? It's not my fault she prolonged facial expressions that could be taken as suggestive when she eats. That's all her fault. "This is delicious." Do not be jealous of disgusting shelled creatures, Davies.

"You know they just killed that thing, right?" Like, after we walked in, like after we sat down, like it was probably still daydreaming of clawing the hostess as I drank my first glass of wine.

"I didn't take you as an animal activist."

"I'm not." Not really. I mean, I do tend to like things that don't talk back much better than things that can. "I just like there to be at least a day between my meat moving and me eating it." Just to make sure there's absolutely no chance that it'll be moving again anytime soon.

"Some people would call this fresh." Fresh? No, sushi is fresh. Which, don't get me started on the disgusting blithe on existence that is raw sushi. That is just a piece of meat that so eyed me angrily as we entered the restaurant.

"I call it un-kosher." I heard once that lobster wasn't kosher. Or, I'm making it up to make my point. Either way, I believe I won that one.

"You're Jewish now?" Why not? Hanukah has so many more days than Christmas.

"You're a comedian now?" For some reason I really can't see the doc on the same stage as Margaret Chow.

"Oh no." I guess she can't either. "I have stage fright." Wait, what?

"Liar." I'm pretty sure stage fright and cheerleaders don't mix. People who dance half naked in front of thousands of people don't get stage fright. Half naked? Doc? Wait. You're stupid seventeen year old self with her no basketball game ideology should be shot right now.

She shrugs. I guess that subjects closed. What? I listen to the shoulders. The shoulders have hypnotic powers. "I have a concert the twenty-first." Which I so didn't have a say in. "It's one of those Christmas things." At least they are giving me free eggnog. They know the way to my heart. "I figure you like those types of things." Christmas seems to be a doc type of thing.

"Ashley." Not that tone. "I told you I was going to be in Chicago." I thought we discussed the demon snow? It's an even higher demon than Madison. And that's saying something.

"Just go to Chicago when it's warmer." That'll give me time to think of an excuse on why Chicago is evil in the summer too. I hear I have until late July to come up with one.

She always looks down before she knows that I'm going to break. It's like she can't watch it. Don't they say that you should be able to watch the things you cause, or something? "We're planning on moving there by March."

I really wish I could remember to breathe through things like breaking hearts that I'm not talking to. It's hard to ignore it when it's screaming though, screaming so loud. "Doc." But I just can't think of anything else to say. There's nothing else to say.

"It's important to him." It's important to him. Nothing important is important to him. He just doesn't understand pictures worth hanging, because you're the only picture I'd ever hang, and he doesn't understand oceans, and how they need to be where they are meant to be. And he just doesn't get you. You told me you wanted to be here, Doc. "He's getting a promotion." You told me you wanted to be here. Your lips told me you wanted me.

"You kissed me." And I say it before I can think it, but it's true, and she can't ignore it forever because it's the only thing that I can see and feel, and now it's becoming so painful to think of, but it won't go away.

"Ashley - "

"I'm not a toy, Doc." Or I am. But I'm just too tired to be played with anymore. So tired from spinning minds and running after and all the inner pleading. "Two o'clock calls, and sleeping next to, and stolen kisses, I just can't do them anymore." Even if they are what all my air is filtered through to give me purpose. Even if they are my muses. I give it all back. I give it all back to have myself back. But, that's a lie, and I know it.

"Me and Aiden are in love." Don't.

"We're in love." And I point to her, and she doesn't say a word. And I stand because I can't take ambiguous stares, and oceans that plan on becoming lakes, and all my fullness that was once emptiness that has been unrightfully filled. And I lean down and kiss her cheek because her skin is still the place my soul has taken residence, and I'll miss it so I had to say goodbye because her skin has become just too hot for my freezing touch. And she doesn't say a word. She doesn't say a word as I walk away and out the door.


	23. Much Ado About Nothing

**Much Ado ****About**** Nothing. **

I absolutely hate it when people ring the doorbell more than once in succession. So much that I plan on getting myself a booby-trap for Christmas. More than one ring within a ten second interval will send a large voltage through their fingers. I really hope it's legal. Though, nothing fun is legal anymore. Too bad I don't have a taser to begin my said plans early. I guess they take away tasers when they find them in crashed cars. Who knew? I open the door. Well, at least I know that the person behind the door would have deserved a little tasering. "You didn't show up."

"Doc?" Of course I didn't show up. Who really chooses to be in the same room as a serial killer of hearts? I don't really know what constitutes a serial killer rather than a regular killer, but I'm sure she fits the criteria.

"Who's at the door, Ash?" Autumn walks up behind me and places her hand on my arm. What is with woman and thinking my body is public property? I can never remember to buy the signs. I'm thinking a 'private property' sign and a 'BYOB' sign. Both of equal importance.

"Uh, my..." She's not your anything, Davies. And she will laser you if you reveal her secret identity of evil super villain of pain. "Spencer." Commonly known as the anti-Christ.

"Well, hi Ashley's Spencer." Ugh, she's obviously one of them with the metaphorical knives. One of these days I'm going to go buy a metaphorical chainsaw. Chainsaw trumps knife. And you'll all be sorry. She's not Ashley's anything.

She falls into me and I grab her quickly to balance her. It's really never a good thing for me when super geniuses fall into me. Nothing good has ever come of it. "It is the green-eyed monster which doth mock the meat it feeds on." Was that English?

She grips my arm and I feel her weight held onto it completely, and I know the arm belongs to her and is of little consequence to me but I can't help but be filled with more importance than I've had the last two days. "Doc, this is Autumn." Why does everyone else get unique names? This is just more proof that inequality just follows us since birth. What? Going through grade school with the same name as four other kids in your class. You barely even respond if someone doesn't add the D at the end of your name. It's traumatizing. "Autumn will be opening for my show the twenty-first." The one you are too busy to attend.

"Sure there is music even in the beauty, and the silent note which Cupid strikes, far sweeter than the sound of an instrument." Wait. What? Did she hit her head? Did I accidently install the booby-trap early?

"I think she's been drinking." God, I hope so. It's either that or I've finally figured out how to enter an alternate universe. But, per my karma, I picked the wrong one. The one that reminds me of high school English class. With my luck, I'd be stuck there too. And they'd all prance around me with their elevated English and symbolism and all that allegory stuff. And I'd cry. A lot. I'd be trying more for the one where spice rum rains from the sky and apple cider grows from the trees. Just saying. One where they finally cut out the middle man and all that.

I shake her a little. She's become way too interested in the rose bushes at the side of the house. Psh, she's not too drunk. Too drunk is when you think it's a good idea to hug them. Let me tell you. It's not that great of an idea. "Doc?"

"I had a little." A little? Did they pour that little all over your head then? You reek of cheap whiskey. And I know the pleasant aroma of cheap whiskey. I'd say it's kind of hot, but I'm still pissed at you, Doc. That and you're tripping over yourself a little.

"What's a little?" Anything under a gallon I might not believe you. Do they sell cheap whiskey in the gallons?

"And drinking largely sobers us again." Well, last time I checked, drinking has never sobered me. I think I would probably stop drinking if that was ever the case. I can be sober for free; I don't have to pay large quantities of money to stay sober.

Hey, wait; there is no death vehicle in the driveway. That is probably a very good thing. She is a terror to the small fury animals of the world when sober. "How'd you get here, Doc?" I didn't know she could teleport through such large distances.

"Do you know what Emerson once said?" Unless it has something to do with cheap whiskey, unexistent cars, or, perhaps, dinosaurs, I really don't care.

"Emerson?" Hey, you never know, Emerson could have had a large dinosaur fetish. He was almost cool enough for something like that. Poor guy had to miss out on Jurassic Park though. I feel his pain. I still haven't seen the third one. It pretty much mocks me daily.

"Few people know how to take a walk. The qualifications are endurance, plain clothes, old shoes, an eye for nature, good humor, vast curiosity, good speech, good silence and nothing too much." That's way too many qualifications for a walk. My last contract didn't have that many qualifications. And where is the sports bra and iPod on that list? Emerson had it all wrong. "I have very good silence, but there isn't much nature here." Are you kidding? Primates are definitely on the rise in the city. Go sit on a corner and watch, Doc. "I think I saw a squirrel." Then it was really lucky that you weren't behind the wheel of a car. Then it would have been road kill. Not too cute then.

Autumn pulls on my other arm. What happened to the days when it was a good thing to have two beautiful blonds on your arms? "You should get her inside." What happened to the times when inside was a good place? No, no, the doc inside my house has never ended well. Ever. It must be a blonde thing to try to throw acid all over my resolve. Those blondes are tricky.

Whatever. I hold her up with my arm, the one that she owns, and walk with her balanced on my side into the living room. "That's at least a four mile walk." In the dark, in the cold. Whatever. She so teleported. I'm not slow, Doc.

"I guess she has the endurance part down too." Endurance, the doc, lots of endurance. Shut up, Davies. The gutter isn't the best place to be right now. You're pissed. Remember?

Speaking of pissed. "Doc, why are you here?" Remember the whole you love Aiden thing. Yeah, well, he doesn't live here, Doc. Actually, last time I checked, he lives with you. You do not live here. Therefore, you should not be here.

"They played your song in the bar." Doc went to a bar? Like an actual bar? Like one without juice in the title? Wearing that shirt? It's white. You so don't wear white to a bar. The things she doesn't know. "And while there's life, there's hope." That's so not a line from one of my songs. Kind of insulted. "You left me at the restaurant alone." Is she serious? Alcohol sure gives her a pair. And I don't mean a pair of anything good.

"Yeah, well." Way to digress back to idiot speech. I thought we were past this? See what she does to you. "You've left me alone a lot." That's right. Score one for team Davies. Too bad you're the only one on your team. Whatever, more Gatorade for me. That is what's in those coolers, right?

"I didn't know you had a tab." Well, the bill wasn't exactly the first thing on my mind, Doc, you know, after you took your metaphorical blowtorch, that's what the anti-Christ gets, to my insides.

"That would be what you'd worry about." Not the girl, you completely own, trying to drink your smile out of her memory just to realize that you can't drink out something that's been burned, burned so deeply into mind's walls, walls that were never meant to be written on at all, let alone burned. And you did that Doc, you burned me. And you knew it. You know it. Because how couldn't you?

"Three-fourths of the mistakes a man makes are made because he does not really know what he thinks he knows." Well I know that I have no idea who comes up with that bullshit.

"Maybe I should go." What? You're going to leave me alone with her? Who knows what she has planned for me, but I'm sure it's going to be extra painful. It always is with her. I'm pretty much terrified.

Ugh, don't admit that out loud, Davies. There are people in this world that still think you hold at least remote badass characteristics. "But you're my best chance at understanding a word she's saying." This is true. I don't speak, well, whatever it is she is speaking.

"Well, the last one was James Bryce, and I think you two should be alone." James who? The only James worth quoting is James Bond and I really don't think James Bond talks about mistakes very often. Pretty much because he doesn't make them. Well, except that he likes his martinis dry and Halle Berry is far from hot. But, wow did he have it right with Eva Green.

"That never works out well for me." It would probably work out better if someone gave her a real blowtorch. Maybe one with a chainsaw attached at the end. Just in case the fire wasn't enough.

The doc has my arm again. She may own my limbs, but she doesn't have to know it. And I may enjoy her touch, but I don't have to indulge it. That's right, Davies, this is one time it isn't okay to indulge. It's never okay. I pull my arm away. "Ashley, I'm sorry." Sorry only goes so far. And I'm sure it doesn't go as far as that one needs to go.

"Not now, Doc." Not ever. I just don't have enough strength for it. I've been trying. But I don't. "I'll walk you out, Autumn." Maybe if I walk super slowly I can buy myself some time. You think they'd notice heel to toe? Maybe I need to measure my foyer. I haven't done that since I thought it was a good idea to get a fountain. I was drunk. And no. Rum fountains are never a good idea. Ever. No matter how great it sounds.

I guess Autumn has a different idea, she grabs my arm and drags me to the front door. Seriously, why does no one allow me to control my own body? Last time I checked I was born without strings. I think. "So, who is she really?" Is it that obvious that it's all a secret identity? I'll tell her she's doing a horrible job.

Remember, avoidance is key. "Who?" Wow, alright, avoidance is key, not ignorance.

"Hot blonde, spewing Shakespeare at your door, strong smell of cheap whiskey, now tripping over herself and the couch." No wonder I couldn't understand it, Shakespeare is a different language. And hey, wait. You can't call her hot. Nor can you smell her.

Shut up, Davies. "Oh, her."

"Her who's been scowling at me since she saw me." Better be careful, that probably wasn't a scowl, it was probably her setting her lasers. She tends to do that for no reason. I think it's like a nervous twitch. But just a little more deadly.

"Whatever." Whatever is probably not going to cut it right here. "She's just..." You know you would never be able to say nobody. Don't even try. "Someone." Someone I'm trying so hard to forget. Trying so hard to get her lips off of mine, because to her they never were.

Well, that frown tells me that, yes, I did just make a fool out of myself. And no, I probably will never get my dignity back. "Alright, well, I'll see you tomorrow in the studio." She opens the door.

"Alright, bye." And she closes the door to leave me alone with my dreams that have turned nightmares. When did everything turn so complicated?

Is she really lying on the floor? Is the universe really trying to laugh at me? Beautiful blond, bombed, laying on my floor. I hate you universe. "Come on, Doc, stand up." I gently hoist her up with her arm and help her sit, semi up, on the couch. Really. Fuck you, universe. "Now, what's wrong?"

"It just felt wrong this time." That's because you never get completely wasted on whiskey. You just end with it, after you can't taste anymore. You start with something delicious. Amateur. "It felt so wrong." Or maybe we are talking about completely different things.

"What did?" Because there are a lot of wrong things right now.

"And then I burned the dinner. And I really hate when people ruin food, because you can't unfix that, and it had so much potential. So much potential to be delicious." Okay, well. Should have guessed I'd never get an answer out of her. Story of my life. Though, she has a point, burned food is pretty much a travesty. Oh, unless it's hotdogs or marshmallows. Then it's forgivable.

Aw, she sounds adorable when she says delicious. What? I may be mad at her, but I am human. "Delicious, Doc?"

"I love food. I love to taste food. I don't understand how people can rush through their meals." Wow, I wonder if she feels the same way about everything she eats. Shut up, Davies. Just shut the fuck up.

"What if they're busy?" Yes, just keep your mind out of dark corners.

"Everyone's always busy." And she falls face first into the cushion of the couch. She's lucky I'm not all that fond of this couch.

And commence the giggling. I'm missing something again, aren't I? "Doc, how much did you have to drink?" And why is it that everyone else gets to giggle when drunk? I sound like a bear in heat when I try to giggle when intoxicated. I'm jealous.

"I don't drink, you know." Oh yeah, I can really tell. "I never drank." Past tense, Doc. "Not before." This is so not my fault. Don't even try that.

I stand up. There's no way she's walking home tonight. And there's no way that Aiden would survive if I came within a block of him. I'm pretty sure the force of my frustration would disintegrate the remaining cells that supposedly make up his brain. "Come on, Doc, let me get you upstairs." I hold out my hand and she takes it. There's no way I am carrying her she better just learn some serious balance. No one gets that privilege.

"You know what Epictetus once said?" Doc, I have no idea who he even is. But if I were you I'd just concentrate on one foot in front of the other.

"Not a clue." And I wish it would stay that way, but, with my luck, I'm sure you're going to tell me.

"Bear in mind that you should conduct yourself in life as at a feast." A feast? How exactly does one conduct themselves at a feast? And, who exactly has a feast nowadays? I think your quotes are getting a little out dated, Doc.

"Yeah?" Why are you egging her on, Davies? I thought we were working on masochist tendencies.

"You know what else he said?" Hopefully it has something to do with walking lessons for you. And something about getting a stiff drink for me.

"I have no idea." Why I didn't just call you a cab. Oh right. Because you're like a drug to my eyes. Thanks for ruining my no addiction thing. Way to do the opposite of your job. I'd call you a failure, but I pretty much think anything but that.

"If you do not wish to be prone to anger, do not feed the habit; give it nothing which may tend to its increase." Ha, speaking of habits.

"Oh yeah?" I lay her carefully on the bed. Don't even think about it, Davies. The chair. It's not just for Charles anymore. But the bed is so inviting. No. Just pull the chair over. You'll thank me later.

"I'm so angry though, Ashley." Yeah, I know that feeling. And I'm trying so hard to hold onto it, Doc. And you're making it so hard. Why do you have to make everything so hard? "And I try so hard." Yeah, I guess, I really know that feeling.

And what does she have to try to do. What does she have to be angry about? She has everything she's chosen. I never got a choice. "To do what?"

"You know, Thoreau thought that water is the only drink for a wise man." Well, Doc, I'd be surprised if any of the liquid in your body was made up of water at this point, and you're pretty wise. I believe we just proved Thoreau wrong. What did he do anyways? Live in a cabin, by a lake, by his mom's house. I could do that.

"Well, he obviously never had spiced rum." No wise man would ever deny himself the special happiness of the third shot of Captain Morgan, when you are still coherent enough to stand but drunk enough that talking like a pirate is immensely funny. I mean, who doesn't secretly wish they were a pirate? No wise man would ever deny themselves that life experience.

"The wine urges me on, the bewitching wine, which sets even a wise man to singing and to laughing gently and rouses him up to dance and brings forth words which were better unspoken." Yeah, well, a lot of your words are better left unspoken lately, Doc, you don't need the booze for that one.

She giggles and falls back onto the bed heavily. Ugh, if this is how she treats Hank I really think I should take custody. She could have seriously just injured HJ, and no she's not named after that, it's just a benefit. Hannah Senior died two years ago. The cause of death is still unknown. I woke up one day, and she never did, or well, whatever beds do in the morning. They say her support system went first. I mourned her in my own time. "Doc, seriously, how much did you have to drink?" Because I don't even smile that big when caressing silk sheets when drunk. And I love silk. Especially when drunk. What? HJ won't accept anything but the best. She's high maintenance, you know.

"I didn't like the Odyssey. So I read it four times to try to figure out the meaning. I thought I'd like it then." And I thought I was a masochist. I guess I just lost on that whole president thing. I can always find a different club to rule over. I wonder if there's a club entitled 'possible anti-Christs make it their hobby to torture me.' I'll look in the morning. Knowing the internet, I'm sure I'll find something.

"That's a lot of pages to be left disappointed." All I know is that it had enough pages to make a great doorstop, or more commonly an extra lock. Just stick that puppy under the door and it fit snuggly enough that no one was getting in. The hard part was getting it out to get out of the room. But I had a mini fridge. It's not like I really needed out that badly.

"To be a person is to have a story to tell." She obviously hasn't been to many bars. Everyone might have a story to tell, it's just not necessarily a true one. Like, Sunday night, I met a guy that once wrestled a giant, carrying a baby ogre, into submission while trying to chug a Guinness. Like I'd believe that pansy could chug a Guinness.

One time I told a story about how I parasailed in Tibet with an albino nun. I still can't remember if that's a try story or not. Oh well. "Not necessarily a good story."

"Why do you think Karen Blixen went under the name Isak Dinesen?" Why do you think I care, Doc? "Why that name?" Secret code?

Okay, this is seriously getting tedious. I'm lost, I'm confused, and yes, this does happen daily, but not on this level. I usually at least am aware that the other person is speaking my language. She's really trying to kill me. "Doc, why are you here?" Because you know that this is hard for me. I know you know it.

I wish I had a detector that tells me when there will be sad eyes so I can avoid them. Kind of like the tornado warning system. I really think that it may be essential to me continuing existence. "My dad still drinks when he doesn't think anyone's looking, you know that?"

Why does she have to do that? Why? "I didn't know that."

"And after all, what is a lie? 'T is but the truth in masquerade." No, no. I really think that a lie and the truth are two very different things. And even I know that and I've pulled the 'I didn't lie, I stretched the truth' line more times than I can count.

"You read too much." Or maybe I read too little.

"It's from Don Juan."

Now there's someone I can relate to. "Don Juan was a cool guy."

"But Lord Byron's Don Juan is less of a seducer and more of a victim of women's desire and unfortunate circumstance." Wow, we should meet and start a support group. I'll even have Charles bake us brownies, or something.

"Poor guy." He really needs a hug. I really need a hug.

"My brother has been addicted to pain killers since high school." Is this sharing hour? Doc, I just, I don't want to know. You have Aiden. I can't. I just can't be here for this. I can't take these pieces of you, you keep giving unintentionally. Especially when they are so unintentional.

"Why doesn't he get help?"But I just can't push you away like I know I need to. You make everything so hard.

"He tried once." Once is never enough with things like that. I would know. "Then everything went boom." It's really hard to take her seriously when she uses a word like boom. Really hard.

"Boom, Doc?" But, I'll always try for her.

"While grief is fresh, every attempt to divert only irritates. You must wait till it be digested, and then amusement will dissipate the remains of it." For some reason I don't think grief would taste all that great digested. Just me, though. "But it's always fresh." Sushi fresh or lobster fresh? Because both are pretty gross.

You're not helping at all, Davies. "There's going to be a lot of painful times in life, so I better learn to deal with it the right way." That's right, Doc, I have trumped you on the quote front. "It's from South Park." Don't give me that look. South Park is some serious culture. You can learn a lot from it. "What? I got in the spirit." Whatever spirit that is.

"Glen had to beg Madison to name PJ Paula." What is with the Carlins and initial names? It's really not good for a child's development. Think about it. Two letters to learn how to spell their names. That'll teach them nothing. "And he has no idea why." At least me and him have something in common. I have no idea why either.

"Why, Doc?" Do you actually care, Davies?

"Paula hated Madison." Paula was a smart woman. "And Glen never knew." Glen didn't know his mom had good taste? "Glen will never know." I think you should tell him. It might help him with his grief or something.

And she begins another giggling fit. I'd say it was cute if it wasn't for the manic nature of it. Manic is usually a negative thing I hear. "Doc, I'm getting worried." Aw, the eyebrow raise. Who couldn't swoon at the eyebrow raise? Shut up, Davies. You do not swoon. Right, right. "How much did you drink?" Good, back to business.

"Quot Homines Tot Sententiae." Huh?

"I don't speak gibberish, Doc." I'm realizing I don't really speak Doc either. There aren't any translators for that though.

"So many men so many questions." There aren't any men here, Doc. But even they might make more sense than you do. And that's saying something.

"That's not really an answer." And you're supposed to be the genius between us. Geez, Doc. Way to slack.

"I scarcely know the meaning of your question; much less can I answer it." Wait, quote or answer? Head explosion or implosion? Who really knows. "I bet my mom would have loved Boethius"

Well, I pretty much hate Boat-whoever. "You need to sleep, Doc." Because now I'm exhausted.

"All men dream, but not equally. Those who dream by night in the dusty recesses of their minds, wake in the day to find that it was vanity: but the dreamers of the day are dangerous men, for they may act on their dreams with open eyes, to make them possible."

"Well, that was a long one, Doc. But, you still need to sleep." Because I just can't keep up anymore. I can't at all.

"T. E. Lawrence was a soldier, you know." No, I definitely didn't know. Didn't he write Charlotte's Web or something? "I wonder what it's like to be a soldier." You wonder what it's like to carry a big gun and ridiculous amounts of clothing while fearing for your life? I'll pass. "He was a homosexual, you know." That sucks for him.

"Did they lynch him?" Lynching seems like it would be rather unpleasant actually.

"No." Well, that's good. "Do you think you'd sleep with me?" Breathe, Davies. Remember. Be the bear.

"No." That's right. Too bad you sounded more like the squirrel with that one.

"Please, Ashley." What the hell is she trying to pull? Be the bear. "I just need you." Yeah, well. Damnit. Damnit. Damn her. I needed her. I needed her and she didn't care. She just didn't care. She didn't care about my dreams of pictures worth hanging or my eyes that can't open fully unless there are promises of the ocean. She just didn't care. "Please."

But I care. I care so much. I care so much that it drowns my common sense, and I'm sure that all this drowning is going to kill me, and I'm sure that I should stay in this chair, but my limbs always belonged to her, so they are going to her. They are going to her so I can breathe with my lungs that are fully in her possession and they are going to her so I can feel again because she's the only thing worth feeling.

And she touches my cheek as I lay next to her. And I can feel my soul snuggled into those finger tips so content, and I'm jealous for its comfort, because her hands still burn my skin, it's still so hot. "Control thy passions, lest they take vengeance on thee." And I'm so tired of all these words that aren't her own, and I'm so tired of all this hope that refuses to move out of me no matter how ostracized it is, and she lays her head against my chest and she's too close to the spot that's so numb because of her and I can feel her breathe for both of us, even if I want to breathe for myself, even if I wish that my veins didn't run towards pictures of her. And she softly sighs and asks me if I know what else Epictetus said and I shake my head because I don't know Epictetus at all. "First learn the meaning of what you say, and then speak." And she gets closer and I don't have the courage to push away an everything when she's breathing life on top of a once dead heart and even if it's a little bit like burning it's a little bit like warming too. "This does feel like love, doesn't it?" And I don't know how to respond, but I don't have to because she's fast asleep in dreams that I am missing, in dreams that I'd do anything to be.


	24. Far Behind

**Far Behind.**

Fingers crawling achingly slow down my abdomen. And usually this would be a good thing. Usually. And in most cases around the world it is. But in those cases, those people are not confronted with the dichotomy that is Spencer Carlin. That's right. Dr. Spencer Carlin is the definition of evil and perfection, and I'm still trying to figure out how it works, per se, but I believe we can blame all those rifts in the space-time continuums I keep hearing so much about. Have you heard about the string theory? It always makes me think of the deliciousness that is string cheese. Focus, Davies, focus.

Right. So. To avoid another episode of 'When Anti-Christs Run', because there's only so many times I can see a show run the same script with different words, I set my alarm on my cell phone to vibrate and slept with it in my hands. You may call this pathetic; I call it ingenious. Actually, no, I call it pathetic too. But, I'm not a dichotomy, I'm just plainly desperate. Mostly for her, but for answers as well. You would be too if you were faced with all the literature you skipped out on by skipping college in a single hour. And who knew that people needed cliff notes too? I wonder how much cliff notes will pay me for that little heads up. They'll make millions. Oh well, the whole thing is a little disconcerting. But, very liberating, I can be assured that I will never pick up an annoying drinking habit of quoting old, dead men, I knew there was a good reason I used Walden as a paperweight. Quoting amazing, funny cartoons is where it is at. I'd teach her, but I'm no Yoda.

Leave me alone; I'm not supposed to make sense, it's seven in the morning, one of the most ungodly hours. I really don't know why the hours between five in the morning and, perhaps, eleven exist. Nothing good ever comes of them. Eleven is on the fence because that could be perfect good morning sex time, but generally they never look as inviting in the morning. Well, you know, of course, with the exception of the evil ones with the pension for sadistic torture. Those ones always look good no matter how they look; those ones always smell inviting even with day old whiskey wafting in the air; those ones are always so painfully inviting even when the door is locked. I hate seven in the morning.

Which is a huge lie. It's one of the biggest I've ever told. If I could I'd freeze seven in the morning and make it seven in the morning every second for the rest of my life. And it would be worth it. I really don't need anything else but seven in the morning. Because seven in the morning, with the sun streaking her tousled hair, and her arms so painfully burning her name deeper and deeper into me as they intertwine and dance with my limbs, with her silent breath of day old liquor puffing against my cheek, and her heart beating so steadily against her other heart, the one that my body houses for her, is my painting. And everyone wants to live forever in a masterpiece. Even if they don't own it.

Staring at someone while they sleep is only creepy until they wake up and figure out you've been doing it for forty minutes or so. Until then it's cute and endearing. Or that's what I am trying to tell myself. I've been trying to tell myself a lot of things lately, and it hasn't really been working out. And I can't even decide what to tell myself anymore. I can't even decide what I want to believe. So maybe I am a dichotomy too. Because in one second I am pretending that this is okay and right, and, in the next second, I am pretending that it's all wrong. And I know, I know it's all pretending. Because I don't know what's right or true anymore at all. I wonder if I ever did. I wonder if I just didn't care then.

And that's the thing, I just don't remember then. I don't remember places and times and faces when I am presented with times like seven o'clock and things like everythings. I just don't remember anything else. I don't remember me. Because I don't live in times like seven o'clock, when the sun is still low enough to streak my bed; I don't long to be part of a picture worth hanging, I never liked art; and I don't know Epictetus. I know things like loud music, apple martinis, whisky shots, sour lips, white powders, slick skin, and heat. And I've always known heat. But, now heat is just secondary, it's cold. My body can't settle for anything short of burning, scalding through places that should never be handled. Scalding through me.

Someone just needs to tell me how being with an everything can feel so empty. But full. And I feel like the kid trying to hold onto the sand, the dry fickle sand that was never meant to be held at all. I don't think it was ever meant to be dry. But I can't think about it now because the door is opening and releasing seven o'clock from my hold, it's nearly eight now anyways.

"Sorry, I don't mean to interrupt." Well, I didn't mean to hire you. We all make mistakes. Calm the bitterness, Davies. You are channeling too much of the bear now. Now, when it's unneeded, of course. "But there's a man at the gate." When isn't there a man at the gate? All my plans to have the individual who invented star maps off-ed have thus far failed. One day though. One day. "He says his fiancé is here." I thought she said man at the gate not graying gorilla. I will have to hire smarter employees.

And what have I learned from the US government? Ignore your problems and maybe they'll go away. I think it'll work out better for me than them because it's doubtful Aiden has nukes, let alone knows that that means bomb. "How long has he been out there?" Is it bad that I am imagining one of those classic scenes with the orphan in the snow with his head on the gate? Maybe not a classic scene. But it's a scene I've seen before, and I want it to be this scene. I'll find a way to make it snow in LA. Just watch me.

"Twenty minutes, ma'am." Damn, not long enough for the cops to care but long enough for my neighbors to notice a walking, talking rock. And when I say neighbors I mean paparazzi. I do not need my house linked with supernatural sightings.

"Just let him in." Do you think he'd be insulted if I asked him to wear a paper bag over his head? Really it's for his own safety. You do know this means you're probably going to have to get the place disinfected, Davies. Rocks carry diseases. Remember high school. "I'll be downstairs in a second." The girl leaves. Now, if I can just remember her name and what exactly she does. I know why I hired her, the hip swing when she left told me that much. I just don't recall what it is she does. Oh well.

Right, the girl, with the morning light halo, wrapped around me closer than any arms could pull. That girl. How do you allow yourself to leave that girl? How can you not kiss her forehead so gently and hope that the light pressure will be enough because I don't think I can push harder, I don't think I could bear to leave an imprint. I just hope it's enough. I hope it's enough for me. And how do you not curse silently at the air outside bedroom embraces for being so cold? Eight o'clock air is just so raw. And I don't think raw goes well with exposed hearts. It just sounds dangerous at the very least. And when did it get so hard to leave a room? When did rooms turn into anything at all? And that's really the thing, I just don't remember at all.

So I walk downstairs, in my day old clothes because I never had a chance to change, but I really don't care because he's seen me in worse and he's seen me in much less. And no matter who I complain to, I guess you can't legally kill someone for seeing too much. That's one thing the US government does have on me. But they did say I can't kill a person. Things are a completely different matter. "Aiden, what are you doing here?" Breathing my air. It's already pretty hard to breathe lately.

Oh no, don't walk towards me. Not if you want to keep that device you call a penis. He stops his advance. I guess he got the hint of me backing up, who knew he had enough brain power. "This is such a nice place, Ash." Wow, inability to answer direction questions must be contagious. That, or everyone in the world has made it their goal to drive me slowly, but surely, insane.

"Yeah." You do need to wear less cologne. I'm sure you kill small animals with your scent. Or, at least, killing me a little on the inside. Why does every many in the world smell like Axe now? I really hope there is a clause at the end of those commercials telling them that it's just not going to happen. "What are you doing here?" I hear that you have to repeat questions a couple times for small children. It might work for people who think like small children. Think like children with the sex drive of a thirteen year old boy. Do not think of his sex drive, Davies. Red doesn't look all that great on you.

"Is Spencer here?"Do I look like her keeper? And knowing her, she's probably gone already. Teleporting allows you to leave whenever you please. Giving the doc this ability seems a little cruel of the world. What's new? What is that now? World two million, Davies null?

"Shouldn't you know?" You might want to invest in one of those GPS locating chips. It could probably be seen as an investment. Seeing as we aren't quite sure how great her powers are, she could be in Taiwan by now. I'm not quite sure why Taiwan, perhaps for secret stealth ninja lessons. Other than that, I can only assume she'd want to make some toys, or something.

"She left her phone last night." Not that it matters much. Didn't she tell you? She doesn't know how to answer a phone. She must have missed this lesson in genius school. "I've looked everywhere else." Stop looking like a dejected puppy. But not the cute and 'my owner is some small child who forgot to put the leash on right' puppy, but the 'I'm too stupid and my owner threw me out of the yard' puppy.

Ugh, whatever. "Yeah, she's still asleep." I always feel bad for puppies, regardless. It's the' I'm too stupid to take after myself, feed me' eyes. He has those down pat.

"Oh." It's also the knowledge that a bear could so take a puppy in a face down to the death. Just saying. I am the bear and all. Yeah, you've been really showing that lately, Davies. Either way. I so know I could take him.

Take him where I'm not sure. I am sure though that it's freezing in here. And as we have covered, I don't do cold well. "Come on." I'm not leaving you in here to get disgusting finger prints on all my stuff. You're like a five year old. One of those bratty ones you always end up behind at the super market. "I think there might be a coffee machine in the kitchen." I just can't promise I'll know how to use it.

"Might be?" I don't recall hearing a stutter. I guess it's true, rocks don't have ears. Who knew?

"I don't go there much." Kind of like you and a library.

"But you need coffee every morning." I used to just tell you it was coffee, you moron. And please don't remind me that you have ever been associated with my morning patterns. It makes me sick to my stomach.

"Charles is bringing me some at ten." Hopefully he'll bring some tranquillizers too. Tranquilizers or a fifth. I'm not picky. Or both. I'm sure you can piece who gets what. "Which leaves you out." Which is kind of the way I enjoy you most. In more ways than one. However, you're more bearable when you don't look like you've been up all night wrestling baby squirrels. What? Baby squirrels seem like they'd be vicious. You can't really hit a baby squirrel conscious free, and they're still so tiny that they can't get any good hits off of you, so they slowly wear you down scratch by scratch. Or something like that. "So you coming or what?" Or at least more bearable for my eyes.

"Yeah, I could use some coffee." And a host of other things, but who's counting? Obviously not the doc. Me, on the other hand, I could write a book. Or just a really long list. You're pretty lucky you're walking behind me.

"So what happened last night?" How about you work on acting disinterested. Hasn't anyone told you the cool kids are just never interested? "That I'm being tortured today."Oh yeah, you totally looked tortured earlier. I mean, who seriously wants to wake up entwined with beautiful blondes with ocean eyes? The world is just so mean to you, Davies.

"We were enjoying our evening." That better be code word for playing scrabble or something. Preferably not monopoly, I wouldn't even wish that train wreck on you. Then again, it's probably easy for the doc to win against you in scrabble. She's a genius and you can't spell. Now you don't even have to know math to play monopoly, I hear it does it all for you now. "Then all of a sudden she's up telling me she'll be back later." I really hope such actions are not a surprise. It's what they call in the community a behavioral pattern. Years of therapy have schooled me well. Just be happy you get a 'be back later'. Men, never happy with what they get.

"Oh." Okay, there are four doors that I don't know where they lead. We can assume one of them is the kitchen. If only my nose had a patent for sniffing out delicious aromas. Stupid nose. What good are you? It's the cologne, it's slowly killing you, isn't it? It is usually his fault, isn't it?

"I've been worried all night." I guess I can try the old eeny-meeny-miny-mo. It's never led me wrong in the past. Especially that one history test, that one time. It pretty much confirmed my suspicion that eeny-meeny-miny-mo is pretty much ordained from God. That, or it's in love with me. Both are pretty viable hypothesis.

"Oh." Second door it is. I've always kind of figured if you catch a tiger by his toe and he does in fact holler and you let him go, you really aren't going to live to finish the rhyme. It's just a thought.

Bingo. I told you. It'll never lead you wrong. "This is so unlike her." Wait, wait. I hope he's kidding. I just have no words on how unbelievably wrong that statement was. That is her. That is just her. And she's so amazingly good at causing worry but soothing it and there's a reason dichotomies are generally looked down on. There is a good reason.

"Could have fooled me." You just don't know anything at all, do you? Or maybe I just don't know anything at all. It would fit that way, wouldn't it?

"What do you mean?" Yeah, like I know. Just shut up. Now where is that device of clever delicious efficiency? Better known as the coffee machine.

"Nothing." Why do so many kitchen appliances look like torture devices? It's a little disconcerting. And when I say a little, I mean a lot. Ugh, stop touching things. I eat food made from those things. I can't afford to catch stupid from you. "Don't you two have a kid to watch or something?"

"He's with his grandpa." Oh, good. Leave the poor, defenseless child with the alcoholic. Good. Really good. I bet child protective services love you.

"Lucky him." Who am I kidding? That kid is better off there. Patriarchs take care of their super families well, I hear. Rocks, on the other hand, I hear aren't always the most paternal.

"Still not a morning person, I see." He's lucky I have no idea where the knife drawer is. It would not spell good for him if I had a large, sharp object.

There you are, you stupid machine. "I was having a good dream." One that included your fiancé and nudity. Lots of nudity. There could have even been some touching involved. Some glorious touching. I really need to dream more often. I'd tell you about it, but you'd probably like that.

Stupid machine. Why do you have so many dials and knobs and buttons? Okay, knobs and dials may be the same thing, but it sounded more difficult with three things rather than two, and I am stumped. "Did she tell you why she came here?" Yeah, sorry, I don't speak Doc. You'll have to ask her. Apparently a bunch of dead people told her it was a good idea, or something.

"Not in English." Well, any form of English I've ever used.

The fucker cut me. Look, blood. "Do you know what you are doing?" Oh, so it takes my near death at the hands of an inanimate object for him to step up. I'll keep that in mind.

"Not a clue." Just like I have no clue how I keep getting myself into these awkward situations. "Knock yourself out." God, please. Yeah, that's what I thought. Not so easy now, is it? I'd say I hope it makes you bleed a little too, but I don't think rocks have that ability.

"Hey, Ash." Ugh, do you think eeny-meeny-miny-mo would help me find the knife drawer too? I mean, it would be for a good cause. Securing my sanity.

"What?" Can't you just make a fool out of yourself with that thing and amuse me? That can be done in silence. Don't stop playing with it, you rock, I need coffee now.

Don't lean against my counters. Only I can lean against my counters. "You don't think she's getting cold feet about the wedding, do you?" Of course not. That would mean my karma would be working in my favor. That just doesn't happen in life.

"How would I know?" She's just an enigma to me. One of those puzzles that you know that are going to be beautiful when they're done, but they happen to be five-thousand pieces. I personally think any puzzle over a thousand pieces is mental suicide. And now they have like five-thousand piece 3D puzzles. People are such masochists.

"You two seem close lately." Generally that's what happens when someone owns someone else's vital organs. There's only so far you can be from them.

Is he just here to rub this in? Because I'm pretty sure my wounds are slowly becoming immune to salt. I almost don't feel it anymore. "She's following you to Chicago, isn't she?" Almost. There's always the whole pain of knowing that none of you is yours anymore.

"Following me?" Please don't look at me with those eyes. I don't like what they imply. I don't think I can take what they imply. I can't take it right now.

"Yeah, Chicago." Big buildings, sheet of killer snow, lake of doom. That city. You do know of it, right?

"That was her decision." Of course it was. Why would I think anything different? No one has such a sick pleasure from sadism as the anti-Christ. What was I thinking? "I was fine with traveling." That's because you're an ignorant. That's because you just don't get it. Or am I the ignorant for getting it? Maybe we're both so ignorant together. Oceans can't belong to anyone.

"Oh." I wonder if there is a sound when someone's world crashes. Crashes because they can't hold it up anymore. I think it sounds something like my heart slowing down, but not my heart at all, and something like ears ringing gently. And I think it smells of Axe and fresh coffee beans.

"There's a specialist there too." Is it an exorcist? Because she might need it.

Why doesn't anything make sense? "Huh?"

"A doctor." "We are hoping he can help." I wonder if he can fix broken hearts too. I wonder if you could sound anymore cliché.

And I want so bad not to care. I need that so badly. "How is she?" But I just can't do it. I can't do anything for myself anymore.

"You two aren't talking about me are you?" You've got to be kidding me. How did she find us? Eeny-meeny-miny-mo must be cheating on me. Stupid rhyme I always knew you were kind of fickle. Oh, so now you decide to attempt to make me coffee. Good. Now that reality has already woken me up. Thanks a lot, you rock.

"No." Oh, yeah, that's convincing. She read minds, you dunce. She always knows.

"Yes." And you deserved it.

"Oh?" There's a lot of oh's being thrown around today, and none of them are the good kind. I pretty much blame you, Doc. You're kind of the cause of all of this.

"Yeah, Aiden was just telling me all about Chicago." He was just telling me all about how I'm your toy. And I was telling myself all about how I knew I was born with strings. "You could fill in the blanks for me." Not that I actually expect you to. You never do, do you?

"Aid, you're going to break it." Obviously. The machine has a higher IQ than he does, and rocks tend to smash. "We'll just grab some coffee on the way home." See, and there she goes again. Running shoes for Christmas. That's the final decision on that.

Damnit Davies, be the fucking bear. She just can't do this all the time. She just can't. Even your deficient conscious knows this is just wrong. "I'll call Charles." Because he'll just love this. "He'll pick you two up something too." And I'll take a gallon of whatever the doc was drinking last night. Speaking of which. She no longer smells of cheap whiskey. Great. Just great. Now I'm never going to escape her. My shower will forever mock me that it got to see her naked. She's just a water stealer.

That's right doc, that's right. Stare at me all you want. I'm the bear. Bears don't break. Well, bears don't break without the assistance of guns and ridiculous traps. And I'll just look at the odd, kitchen torture devices and avoid all the traps in your eyes. Stupid bear traps. "That's really not necessary." Oh, no. I really think it is.

"Don't worry about it, Doc." Actually, you know what, worry. Do anything but try to look me in the eye because I know if I see those eyes I'll drown and I just can't do it now. So I open my phone and dial one of the only numbers I know by heart. "Hey, Charlie. Pick something up for the doc." Don't say rock even if it does rhyme. "And her fiancé."

Don't laugh at me, you jackass. This is the worse morning ever. God's way of telling me anything before ten o'clock is blasphemous. "How'd that happen?"

Yeah, like I know anymore. "We'll talk later." Hopefully not about this predicament. I'm not sure I'll be able to relive it without losing whatever hold I still have. I close the phone after we exchange goodbyes. He better get his ass here soon. I need to be reminded that murder is bad PR. He's always good for that.

"That's really nice of you, Ash." Oh you have no idea. We should start a club. We both just have no idea. She has that effect on people.

"Don't mention it." Really, don't. Just walk, Davies. The torture devices are looking way too inviting. Leave them. Maybe I should get signs for all my doors. I think it would make my life a little easier.

Oh, they are following behind me. "So where'd you go last night?" She went swimming in a pool of whiskey. Which is saying something, because I don't even have a pool full of whiskey. Though, if I was going to have a pool of ecstasy, I believe it would be filled with rum instead.

Are you really putting your hands around her? Seriously? "There's a hands to yourself rule in this house." And the penalty is castration or death. Either one works for me. I'll even let you choose. Cause I'm pretty nice like that.

"Somehow I doubt that." Yeah, well, I just implemented it. And it is only in place while you are in the house. So, get over it. As the owner I can do things like that. I think it's in the constitution or something. Can't argue with the constitution.

"I needed to get out. " Maybe her ears started to bleed. I hear Madison has that effect and now that there are two more Madisons crawling around. I'd need to get out too. When do kids start to crawl, anyways? "Was everything okay?" I really think you're asking the wrong person here if everything is okay, Doc.

"I worried." Maybe this is what is causing the premature graying. That better not be in my future. I don't think I could take it. You can mess with me, Doc, just don't mess with the perfect body. "I called every hospital in LA." I kind of wonder if that's possible. There are a lot of hospitals in LA and his attention span is only so big.

"I'm sorry." She's just sorry all around lately, isn't she? "I wasn't thinking." Somehow I doubt that. Last time I checked super geniuses are always thinking. It's part of their job description. Just lying all around too, aren't you, Doc?

"Spence- "

"Aid, please, later." What? You can't Spencer-whip us both at the same time? Don't worry, Doc, I have complete faith in your abilities. I'm sure you could.

I sit at the dining room table. It's the closest room and I'm pretty sure my legs just don't feel like standing anymore. I'm pretty sure they just don't feel like anything anymore. "I heard you got a movie deal, Ash." They sit as well. Across from me, next to each other. This time, I just don't care how long this table is.

And I really don't care about some movie, or anything that he has to say, because no one, but one person, can say anything worth saying right now. "So tell me about this specialist, Doc."

"Dr. Jones is a specialist in infiltrating ductal carcinoma." And if carcinoma wasn't in that sentence I could laugh at it because the word ductal can sound either like a duck or pretty dirty. But, no, words like carcinoma ruin everything around them.

"Oh yeah?" Last time I checked I asked the doc, and you, not so good sir, are far from a doctor. And like I told you in high school, playing doctor does not make you a doctor. Some people just never learn.

"I'm not feeling good." Doc? Don't say stuff like that. Don't. "We really should get home." Don't say stuff like that because I can't, I can't be the bear; I can't be strong when faced with that. I can't face words like carcinoma and still have any resolve. Can't you ever just take pity on me?

"You two should go." But I'll give in, because I always do when it comes to you because I'd do anything for you, Doc. And I just wish that it went the other way. I just wish this perpetual dichotomy would end. But you're not going to let it, are you? No, because you're standing and he's standing because he follows you, like everyone does, like I do. And I don't think I'm going to be able to anymore. I can't walk over glass, anymore. The soles of my feet have never been so bloody. And I would blame it all on you, Doc, but it's me too. Because I let you drag me back to the beginning again, I always just let you. Even though I know where I'll end up. I'll end here.

I'll end up here, being hugged by your ignorant fiancé who doesn't understand seven o'clock, because he couldn't, no one could understand that but us, because we were the only ones to exist, and who doesn't understand what it's like to miss his organs because they're always just there with him. He'll never understand. And I'll end up hugging you, hugging you, trying to pull some of you inside me, but I know it's impossible because everything inside of me would rather be with you. And I know I'll always have to settle with burned images that were never mine to have to begin with.

And I hear her whisper in my ear, with air that once puffed whiskey breath against my blessed cheek, "What does it feel like, Ashley?" Everything, Doc. That's what you always feel like.

But I just can't do this anymore. I can't. I need to start holding my own heart, Doc, because obviously you don't want to hold it at all. "Nothing, Doc. Just nothing." And I feel her slump slightly in my arms, but I don't know what she wanted. I never know the right response. I never have. And I watch them walk out the door, and I'm sure other words were exchanged in that goodbye, but it didn't matter, because I can't handle goodbyes right now, I can't handle them at all. So I sit and I'll live in times like seven o'clock, I'll live in those times, until someone else comes along to let eight o'clock in.


	25. Samson

**Session Eleven:** Samson.

Inhale. Exhale. Good. We can so do this. We're doing it for Hank, remember. The poor, defenseless couch just sitting there within her laser sight. You have to take one for the team, Davies. I knew I should have invested in some garlic or salt or something. I can't ever remember which random spice wards away what evil. I'm thinking, though, that the anti-Christ might be a little above spices. And I have yet to figure out her kryptonite.

Just walk past aging dinosaurs. Good. Start implementing operation do not make eye contact. Unless you want to drown because I'm certain you're slowly forgetting how to swim. That knowledge is being replaced with other facts. Facts about seven in the morning and masterpieces and ten minute increments from a week ago. Facts about things that aren't really facts at all. Therefore, we must win this operation. It's failed in the past but I have complete faith in you, Davies. Such a lie.

Yeah, just sit at your desk like you aren't partly responsible for all the evil in the world. That's good, Doc. You just do that. "You came." And why do you have to make everything so dirty, especially when I am mad at you? Whatever. We aren't here for her, Davies. Just make it to Hank. Hank needs you now. Or maybe you need him? Whatever. It's all semantics anyways.

There, much better. At least now you have someone. "I'm only here because I have to be." And because Charles threatened to leave me in the club next time I get wasted, and you have no idea how badly that could play out. I cannot be seen in public singing Cher songs at the top of my lungs to the dance of the little tea cup. It's called embarrassing. And Ashley Davies does not do embarrassing.

"You had to be here Monday too." Yes, well, the distance between Tuesday and Friday is greater than the distance between Sunday and Monday and my lackeys happened to notice my great disdain for all animals in the dog family and anything with the word super in it. I guess it happens when you throw away all your comic books. You know, the ones you don't really have. The ones you're holding for a good friend that just never wants them back. "You didn't come then." Yeah, and then I was greeted with a drunken minstrel at my door. Like I'd put myself through that again. I like my drunken woman dumber than me. Especially if I'm the sober one.

"You're pushing your luck, Doc." You're pushing me too far. I can't, I won't, you can't drag me back to the beginning, Doc. I don't have any more tears left to console my feet. And that would just be beyond cruel. Because I can't rely on you to console them at all. I can't rely on you at all.

What does she think she's doing? Ugh. How dare her sit by me on Hank. I believe it's pretty obvious that neither of us are talking to her really, and definitely not by choice. This is just rude. "That means I have luck to push." She's so lucky that I love you, Hank. We're still together for you, buddy. But don't worry it's not your fault. It couldn't be your fault that you mom's a sadistic something or another. You can't choose your parents.

"I hate you." You're the worse liar on the planet, Davies. You know that? Hate doesn't write someone's name all over paper like it's the only word worth knowing. And hate doesn't spend hours looking at a cell phone hoping it'll ring. Hate doesn't throw said cell phone away when they just can't take the piercing pain of hope anymore. No, that doesn't sound like hate. That just sounds pathetic. Way to be.

"Because I'm annoying." Well, it is pretty annoying that you know that you are annoying and you have yet to fix that.

But, that's not the problem at all. "No because you're sadistic." I have learned of late that sadism beats annoyance. Who knew?

"How was the rest of your week?" Well, it's hard to have a good week when someone comes over randomly holding a metaphorical blow torch of destruction and takes said weapon to my heart. But I did my best. Jack and I spent a many nights together. We needed to catch up anyways.

"Great." Like I'll give her the satisfaction of knowing how well her blowtorch actually works. She doesn't like to give me any satisfaction at all. Satisfaction, blowtorches… Shut up, Davies.

"What did you do?" Sat around in a drunken stupor complaining about sadistic African animals. It's a lot more fun than it sounds, I swear. Oh, and went to the club and talked to the bartender, whose name is Mike, about how certain bands of woman hold an evil legion of doom to take over the souls of as many people as possible. I have it on good regard that you are the leader of said legion, Doc.

"Does it matter?" Which is code for, 'I really don't want to tell you that my weeks aren't worth having without you'. "You weren't in it." And I'm trying so hard to pretend like that wasn't all that mattered, that that wasn't that reason that I hugged my friends so closely this week, so closely trying to replace your kiss from my veins and fill them with something substantial, like rum. "Therefore it was good." Liar. She can read minds. It's really no good.

"I missed you." Don't you dare, Davies. Don't you dare. You did not miss her. You did not. And even if that's the only thing you did do, she doesn't need to know it. How many times do I have to tell you she can smell weakness? Aren't the past events proof enough?

Damnit, Davies. Do I have to buy you a bracelet that says 'be the bear' because I so will. "I'll buy you a puppet for Christmas." That's right. I'm so proud of you. I'd pat myself on the back, but that's pretty ridiculous. And Ashley Davies is far from ridiculous. Yeah right, Davies.

"When I was little I'd always get their strings tangled." Well, color me very unsurprised. You probably massacred them too and then threw them into the ocean. Actually, don't they have one of those hideous lakes near Ohio too? Figures. She probably killed them with a great lake too.

"Yeah, well." Ugh, more digression. We really need to work on it. I think the real cure is less time around brainless buffoons. Just the use of the word buffoon really proves my point. "I think you did it again." I don't just think it. I know it. I'm pretty much being strangled by the tangles. It's not a good place to be at all.

"I don't have one right now." And you seriously wonder why I think you're annoying?

At least she supplies you with ample eye rolling opportunities, Davies. I just feel like I haven't gotten enough of those lately. "You're missing the point, Doc." Kind of like how you manage to do with everything I say. You're just so talented.

"No, I got it." Of course you did. You just get everything, don't you, Doc? Maybe you should work on doing something about it rather than just getting it. It's called owning up. Learn how.

Whatever, I so don't have to take this. I don't have to take any of this. No one should have to. "Well, now that the important stuff is out of the way." You know, remembering that you really are sadistic, and, no, you really have no plans of changing. "I think I should go." Because really I'm of no use to you anymore, Doc, you've already destroyed everything I can give to you. The rest is just enough to breathe.

"There's still an hour and forty minutes left." I can only imagine what you could do to the lasting bits of my resolve in that amount of time. No thanks, Doc. Like I said, I need those. You have to let me breathe. You can't take that away too.

"Maybe you should call Aiden." Yay tall, tiny brain, small penis. Last time I checked, he was your soon to be life mate. Or until he finds away to marry himself. "I'm sure he'll love to spend it with you." Because, in all honesty, I don't know who wouldn't. In spite of everything, this is the only place I can imagine being. And I'm trying really hard to chalk it up to super powers, but really it's just you, just you, super powered or not.

"I want to spend it with you." Damnit, Davies. She only said it to make you break your important operation. Now what are you going to do? Eye contact has never treated you well in the past. Now you're just going to drown. I can't help you. You dug your own grave. I told you she was a tricky one.

"Well, I want." If you say her I will personally shank you myself right here, right now. And I promise it will be so painful that you'd even rather converse civilly with Madison. What? It's the most painful thing I could think of in that moment. Now, think of something good. " A zamboni." A what? That's the best you could come up with? A zamboni? It sounds like the punch line of some horrible children's joke. You make me sick a little.

"You don't have anything to use a zamboni on." I hear they make great skull crunching tools. Not that the people whose heads need to be crunched would feel it all that much. They are lacking some essentials in the head department.

And I really think this just proves that geniuses do not in fact know everything. "I can think of a few things I could use a zamboni for." It's not just for shiny, deadly ice anymore. Really, have you been on freshly zambonied ice? It's almost as deadly as the black demon ice of Chicago. I think I am seeing a pattern in cold being deadly. Just saying.

"And here I thought cutting things was more your style." And here I thought reading minds was rude and uncalled for. Silly me.

"Shut up, Doc." I can't stand to hear your voice anymore. I can't stand for you to sit there and pretend like nothings changed. Because everything changed within these walls, and I do remember you doing it. You did it, Doc. So why does it feel like it never happened to you at all? "I'm not in the mood." I'm not in the mood to be alone in any of this anymore.

Oh, now you look away from me? Now? How about all those other times when I needed you to? How about all those other times when you were burning the inside of me when the inside of me shouldn't belong to you at all? What about those times, Doc? "Ashley, I'm sorry about Monday."

Monday? Words of people I've never met, Doc, are of little concern to me. It's your tongue that lashes at my broken spirit. It's like a whip. One of those cruel, angry whips you always see in the movies. But your tongue is sexier, I'll give you that. "How about Saturday?" Because that's what is really important, Doc. Why don't you get that?

"Ashley –"

And maybe Saturday isn't the problem either. Maybe it never was. "Or maybe last Friday." Because ten minute increments will never be enough for me, and they'll be asphyxiating by the time my life is over, because you're forcing me to live in them for the rest of it. You're forcing me. "Why don't you try being sorry for that." Because I'm trying so hard to be. I'm trying, but I'm failing again. I always seem to be failing.

Don't look at me again. Don't. I am so over the ocean; salt hasn't been a good thing to me lately, anyways. "I'm not sorry for that." You need to be. One of us has to be. Or it's too real then. It's too real, and I can't take real right now. Real is going to completely obliterate these fences I've been trying to build with booze bottles and broken guitar strings.

"Well, I am." Stop lying, Davies. She can see right through you. Look at those eyes, they're reading everything you aren't saying. She just knows. She knows that Friday meant a million unlived seconds and a billion unsung melodies.

"Ashley-"

So many undone things because the only thing that I need to be done will never be. None of it will ever be. "Damnit, stop looking at me like that." Because you don't have the right to. You don't. I'm taking it away, if you ever had it at all. "I'm so tired of you." But, really, I'm just tired of not holding you, of not being anywhere near any of me.

"I told Aiden about Friday." Don't choke, Davies. It's never good when you choke on nothing. It kind of makes you look like more of an idiot than you already are.

"You what?" Does this really surprise you, Davies? Does it? Just because you want to live with her in periods of time forever doesn't mean that she doesn't mind inviting other people. It doesn't mean she wants to be alone with you. There are other people for her, even if she's the only one for you.

Yeah, look away, Doc. Because there is nothing over here for you. "I had to." I've kind of noticed, Doc, that you don't have to do anything, you just always choose to do everything that'll brandish your metaphorical blowtorch. I think you're really proud of it.

"Whatever, doesn't matter to me." Can't you just be happy that you aren't a dirty secret? Can't you just find something good in anything? But secrets always have promise. It's the painful truth that scares me.

"Ashley –"

And I really should have left when I still had some control. Because I can't control this anymore. And this is really just all her fault. "I don't want to hear about it, Doc." I don't want to hear about boys with large hands.

"Ashley –"

And I don't want to think of small hands in large hands, and I don't want to think where all that warmth goes to when it's not burning me, and I just don't want to think. But she makes it so hard. And I think she does it on purpose sometimes. I really do. "And who asks a question like that?" That question that has been asked in all my sleeping hours since that time.

"What?" Don't sit there and pretend like you don't know. Don't. Because we both know you said it. We both know it. I haven't been imagining things all week. I don't imagine things feeling like love, Doc. I don't. And I know you can't either. I know that now.

How did all this go from being too much to being so numb? How? And I feel like she deserves an answer again to the question that has taken up permanent residence in my mind, burned there like the lines from her fingertips. "Because, Doc, it doesn't feel like much right now." Because, really, nothing could.

"Like nothing, right?" Why do I share things? I remember when I first learned sharing is so not caring. It was those damned diabetic kids in grade school. They always got candy when they asked. The teachers always told me to go sit down or something else equally as dramatizing. Whatever happened to sharing is caring, I'd ask them. And then they rolled their eyes. Thus, two of my learned habits: sharing is bad and eye rolls answer most important questions of life. But. Now I just feel bad because I hear they can't enjoy the euphoria of Captain. I just want to hug them.

Ugh, get your head together, Davies. Diversion only last so long. Whatever. I don't have to take this. I don't. This is all her fault. She's the one that has both our organs, she's the one that stole my soul through skin that was never really there to begin with. She's the one, not me. So I stand, because this air is too suffocating, she's been frowning much too often in it. "You're so insufferable." Because I know she's been doing it on purpose. Just on purpose the choke me a little. I hear that's what sadists do.

What? You can't stand too. That's pretty much copying, Doc. "No, you are." Oh, yeah, really mature. Now I just know I missed out on something really big and important with college.

It be so much easier to be the bear if she wasn't taller than me. Shortness is so a handicap in the intimidating factor. "Shut up, Doc." And her eyes glaring into mine have always had their super powered effects, which, at this moment, happen to be handicapping my witty comeback factor. It's really not my fault at all.

Don't get closer, Doc. I can see the blowtorch from over here. I really would rather not have a closer look. Thanks, though. "You can't even see past yourself for one second." Fuck you, Doc. I haven't seen myself in a month. You've been hiding me under water and smiles and heat that isn't mine. You have me. And I've been trying to see me lately, but I'm pretty sure I never will.

"I hate you." Liar. Or just wishful thinker. I can't decide.

"I can't stand you." Ha. For your information, Doc, hate so trumps 'can't stand'. I do believe that's me winning. If only I knew how to play marbles, I'd demand all the marbles.

"Well." Oh, good. Way to drop the 'yeah'. Because that makes it sound so much more intelligent. "Good." Yeah, and way to back up my thesis that along with all your other organs the brain went as well. Wouldn't surprise me. She probably just replaced it with a viewfinder filled with pictures of her. It's like the same thing. She's so tricky.

"I can't stand the way you walk around like everyone should just bend to your whim." Excuse me, but I pay most of those clowns they should do what I ask. I pay them way too much. Just like I pay you. But you kind of fail horribly at it.

And what is this anyways? "Well I can't stand the way you refuse to." Refuse to do anything I want you to do. Ever. And when you do, when you finally do, you just take all the meaning away. You're sadistic like that. So sadistic. Keep telling yourself that, Davies. Just keep reminding yourself.

Don't get closer, Doc. Please. "I can't stand the way your nose crinkles when you smile." It does? That better be nothing like wrinkles.

Ugh, you're losing it. "I can't stand the way your head tilts when you read my mind." Mostly, I just can't stand that you can read my mind at all. You can always just read me. I never thought it would be so exhausting to be a book.

"I can't stand the way your voice changes when you talk to me." Don't look at me. Last time I checked vocal cords and tongues were all involved in that package deal entitled my organs. They're your problem now, Doc. Sadly, I am learning more and more there is no return policy.

"I can't stand the way your eyes change colors with your mood." I can't stand that I notice every time. And I try so hard not to. I try so hard.

"I can't stand the way you bite your lip when you're thinking." I never really had that problem before you. Way to be Doc. Really, all these things you really can't stand are all caused because of you. I think this really points to me being victorious.

But, I'm never victorious "I can't stand that I want to kiss you right now." I want to kiss you so hard and push you up against the wall and demand you feel this too. Demand that you share my heart again. Demand that it really does feel like love, because that's all I can feel.

"I can't stand that I want you to." Damn limbs cupping her face when I so didn't tell them to. I so didn't. The heat is just too much right now. But she started it. She started it when she got so amazingly close, and I barely noticed at all, or it was all I did notice.

"Then let me, Doc." Because I need permission, because those lips aren't mine like mine are hers. Mine have only been hers for longer than I can remember, because really I can't remember at all still. But right now, it just doesn't matter.

You would shake your head, wouldn't you? Of course. You would have to. Anything more would kill me anything less wouldn't be substantial enough. Just enough to leave me gutted and limbless staring into water that is sure to drown me soon. Thanks, Doc. "I can't stand that you just don't understand." What a coincidence. That's what I can't stand the most. So I remove my hand, or she removes it for me, either way, it's all the same.

"I can't stand that I love you." Because she knows it, and she knows I've been thinking it since I walked in here. She just always knows.

"Well, I can't stand the way I can't walk away from you." But that's what I can stand the most. That's what I wake up for.

"Then don't." It's just that simple, Doc. It is. Don't walk away because if neither of us walk away then we are both just here, because I could never walk away, and we are just here with Hank and love and all those things that people want at the end of really long drawn out movies.

"Ashley – " Don't draw this movie out any longer, Doc. Don't.

"Don't go to Chicago." Because I'm pretty sure your heat would just be too much for it anyways. "Don't go anywhere." Because your heat is the only thing I need. It's just right for me. "Stay here with me." Stay here with me forever. I can make us a forever. I can. I'll take the booze bottles and broken guitar strings and I'll make you something beautiful. I will. Because you deserve something beautiful. And I'll sing you all those unsung melodies and we can fill all those unused seconds. We can.

"Ashley – " Or maybe we can't at all.

"At least look me in the eye when you do it this time, Doc." Because I always know what's coming. And I'm beginning to wonder what a soldier feels like as well. Something like this, I'm sure.

"I have so many responsibilities." Can anything hold perfection responsible at all? "I have so many people counting on me." But, I'm counting on you, Doc. I'm counting on you for everything. Don't you see that? "I can't just give everything up, Ashley." But, Doc, don't you get it? This is everything.

You don't see it, do you? "I have to go, Doc." I had to go an hour ago. I was just too numb to really notice this growing hole then.

"Ashley." Why do you always turn around when she says your name, Davies? It only stops that heart, the one you aren't talking to, sooner. "It still feels like it." Then say it. Say it, Doc. "It does." Maybe feeling like it just isn't good enough.

"I'll see you in a week, or so." Now turn around and walk away because that's all that can be done now. And she says nothing as I do so. She says nothing and she does nothing. And all I have is nothing. And this is starting to feel really familiar. Too familiar. And all I am left with is booze bottles, drunk trying to collect unused seconds, and broken guitar strings, broken trying to play myself unsung melodies. And that's a lie, because all I have now is this enflamed hope, trying to replace her heat, and it never will, but it'll sustain me. That's all it can do.


	26. Secondhand Serenade

**Secondhand Serenade. **

Davies, have you gone brain dead and forgot to inform me? Why are you walking towards her? "Mike, two amaretto stone sours." Like the last time we were here, in this position.

"I don't drink amaretto anymore." And I haven't either for eleven years, but tonight seems like an amaretto night.

"Lightweight." You never really were one. I would know. I was there the first time you drank. Sitting in my room, cross legged, kind of like her, with your eyes closed and pinching your nose, sipping vodka out of a shot glass. You ignored me when I told you it would be better if you just downed it. We were thirteen. I should have known then the evil that was living inside, who sips from a shot glass?

"Actually, it makes me nauseous." Liar. How is that possible? You look at yourself in the mirror every morning. You have to have a stomach of steal.

"Well, you and it have a lot in common." Vomit inducing.

"I don't make myself nauseous." Women do this on purpose. I know it. It's part of the evil legion thing.

"Ugh." Yeah, show all that intelligence, Davies. You might explode her mind with it and all. "You make me nauseous." Well, at least it's true. A lot more so than amaretto.

God, thank you, Mike. He slides us the drinks. I need this. It really is an amaretto night. Sometimes you're just not in the mood for friends. "What are you doing here?" What am I doing here? Seriously? It's a club. I'm Ashley Davies. Have you heard of peas and carrots?

"I own part of this club." The good part. The part of the bar you are not sitting at. "What are you doing here?" I'm trying hard to forget things that smell like cinnamon and new, hardcover books, and you have her on you. I could smell it anywhere. "Don't you have spawn to tend to?" Carlin kids must feel highly neglected a lot.

"They're at Glen's." Well, Speedy, for not liking it, you sure downed it fast. I really hope the five other glasses surrounding you aren't an indication of your state. I've taken care of enough drunken evilness already in my life. And half of that is three years of your drunk ass and the other half is one unspeakable night.

"And you're breathing my air, why?" I need as much of it as I can get lately.

You do know, if you stare at your glass, it doesn't make it fill back up. Trust me, I've been there done that for many hours of my life. Life isn't fair like that. "I needed a drink tonight." Yeah, I understand that. Nothing like a drink on D day.

But, a drink. Not however many she's had. You know you need to stop when you successfully fall out of a bar stool low enough for your feet to touch the ground. Double points when said bar stool has a back to it and everything. "How many have you already had?"

I'll give her credit; she did get back up and onto the stool without any assistance. Don't look at me. I don't make it a habit to touch walking diseases. I hear it isn't very healthy. And people who aren't talking to their hearts should probably worry a lot about stuff like that. "If I need a keeper, I'll call Glen." Because Glen seems like he'd be a big help in all types of situations.

Whatever. "You're a real mess, you know that?" And I know messes.

"You're calling me a mess?" Touché. Pot meet kettle. I'm failing a little at life.

"Good point." Well, I know why the only open bar stool in the place is the one next to her, and it's not just because my karma is still lacking, but I still find it horribly angry of life to do this to me. Whatever. I just can't stand anymore. Graceful over there in the cowboy hat stepped on my toes, and my pain tolerance does rise proportionally with attraction level, but this time I just had to give up.

"That was easy." I've always been good at easy. An old pro.

"Well, you did always call me easy." Always. It went from easy to beat at Pokemon to easy to bed. Either way, I've always been the easy one.

"That's because you're a chronic cheater." Hey now. I wouldn't say chronic. Chronic makes it sound like a disease. It's not a disease. It's the ability to have a very open mind. And I hear that is a very good thing.

"Not cheater, I just enjoy polygamous relationships." The Mormons had it right.

"That really only works if both parties agree." Not necessarily. I guess it could be an added bonus, but not a necessity. Good relationships mean that communication should flow nonverbally. Really. I can't be held accountable if they can't understand my nonverbal communication.

"Semantics."

"I don't recall telling you, you could sit there." Yes, well, I don't recall telling you you could drink my booze and pollute my bar stool. We're all having problems today, aren't we?

"I've been telling you since high school, I'm not contagious." I think the scientist have finally proven it, or something along those lines. It's really not all in my mind. Like most things.

"That's debatable." Everything about me is debatable. That's why they love me.

"Oh. Sixth grade words." She's progressing.

"What the hell do you want, gender bender?" Do people really say that? Rhyming went out of style with Dr. Seuss. Aw, Dr. Seuss. I do feel bad for the guy. Even in death, no one pronounces his name right.

Wait, what do I want? Am I really in this bad of a need of a masochist fix? "I have no idea." I have really come to this. It's really just because I couldn't figure out how to purchase a metaphorical chainsaw. People look at you strange when you inquire. "It's Chicago's fault." What? It is. It tends to be lately. I would not be surprised if Megiddo was a code word for Chicago. Those tricky biblical writers.

"I waited until I knew they were on the plane to come here." I waited until I knew they were in Chicago to come here. You never know, planes sometimes come back. Don't they?

But, there's no way I am sympathizing with her. "Pathetic." Projection seemed like the best course of action. Plus, I can't be pathetic alone. Everything is better with a crowd.

"Maybe." Maybe? No. We are pathetic. We are both Spencer-whipped and the word pathetic is pretty much lashed onto our backs. And this begs the question, who really enjoys being whipped? Really? It just seems to add a lot of unneeded adrenalin into the bedroom. Isn't testosterone enough? Isn't it too much? "Young Dolly Parton looks like she's ready to pounce." Hopefully, pre–Best Little Whorehouse in Texas.

Oh, cowboy hat girl. Who wears cowboy hats in LA? Never mind, hot woman can wear cowboy hats all they want, what am I talking about? And she's approaching me. I think my toes are slowly healing. Good job, toes. "Want to get back out to the dance floor, sugar?" This is the truth, only girls with slight southern accents, touching my arm, can pull off the word 'sugar'.

"Have a thing for blondes, don't you?" And only someone so amazingly wicked could ruin this. And not the good type of wicked that produces catchy but irritatingly catchy songs, the bad kind that shoots images of oceans and stars into a body that's trying so hard to concentrate on heat and slick skin.

Hey, why don't you just fall off your stool again? Stupid, bitch. "I think I'm done for the night." My toes just didn't heal quickly enough, I guess. Or maybe something else didn't. Either way, I don't think I can let her touch my arm anymore.

"Oh, that's too bad." Yeah, you're really telling me. "I guess, I'll see you around." Say something, make her come back. You can lasso me anytime? No, you moron. Save a horse, ride a, okay that doesn't really work. You just lose, Davies.

Great. Now I'm stuck with paranormal creatures. Why can't I ever just be stuck with a normal, unevil human being? Is it too much to ask? "You're such a whore."

Whores get paid. I may be a corporate whore, but not even close to a sexual one. Obviously. And you would think she'd know the definition of whore. "Mike, another round over here." It is much needed. It's going to be a long night.

"I don't want to get drunk with you." Yeah, because you're my first choice. I'm pretty sure space monkeys would make ample substitutes. "Who knows what you'll do to me." Okay, to begin with I was drinking too. Oh, much like this situation. But unlike this situation, I was still blinded to your excessive need for an exorcist.

I can never taste the almond in this. They claim it's there. Whatever. As long as I can taste the deliciousness. Amaretto. Proof the Italians are good for something other than semi-interesting sitcoms and pasta. "You're worse than her." In some ways.

"They fought about you." Well, I fight with me about me all the time. Do they want a cookie? I do it better anyways.

"So I heard." Even if I don't want to remember. I really still can't take painful truths. I'm still living alone with everything in ten minute increments, even if that's not what occurred at all.

"She waited to tell him until I went to bed." Evil sleeps? Who knew? "She even opened my door to try to make sure." Well, that just seems a little stalkerish.

"And?" I wonder if they rent out the space monkeys.

"She kissed you." Trust me, I remember.

"Yeah, I was there, thanks." They must have had a really big bargain at the metaphorical store lately. On deadly weapons. Deadly weapons for my soul. Well, good thing she has that. It's one less thing I need to protect.

"She actually kissed you." You already said that, genius. And don't look so surprised, you kissed me once too, remember?

Too bad it's against drunkards etiquette to kick a bar stool out from under someone. I would so own her otherwise. "What? Do you want a video, or something?" Like I'd ever sell that. Then I'd have a visual to the feelings that roll over and over in my head. That would be nice.

"He never yells at her." Figures. Who could? Who could other than me? Even rocks know enough. Even rocks. "He just asked her not to do it again." But rocks sure know how to break me. They do it so well. What else would you expect, Davies?

"What did she say?" Because her actions are the one thing I'll never take a gamble on.

"You probably feel really smug, ginger." How much do you have to drink before you forget your arch nemesis's name? "But, she didn't tell me." Well, last time I checked, it was none of your business. But I must have forgotten that everything involves Madison. Like the one time, I was dividing my Dr. Pepper between us and she just had to drink the odd one. Okay, so this may not be equivalent, but I'm still pissed about it. "And if she didn't tell me it didn't matter all that much." Non sequitor much?

"Whatever." Because who am I to say what mattered to her? I have come to realize that everything to me is nothing to her. And no matter how burning hope is it can't burn through to her. Nothing can. She can only burn me.

Don't lay your head on the bar. Where did your self-respect go? Do you have any idea the amount of things I have seen occur on that bar? That bar probably gives you a run for your money on incurable diseases. "You know she'll never leave him." No, really, that bar could second for a urinal some nights.

And who do you think you are? Coming into my bar and trying to inform me that I'll never get my organs back, that my limbs are lost forever and my soul, well my soul is just no good to me anymore. Who gives you the right? "Shut up, banshee." Shut up, Davies. Like she knows what a banshee is.

"Good riddance." Yeah, you can say that because your heart doesn't belong to a sadist that enjoys squeezing the life out of things. "They deserve each other." Creepy and Annoying together forever. Sure, why not.

Why don't you just walk away, Davies? "Mike, double straight vodka on the rocks with a twist." Because the booze is here. I just like to say with a twist at the end, I never taste the lemon at all. It's hard to taste anything extra with the sting of vodka on your throat, but still people get the twist. Maybe we should start charging extra for twists. That's a lot of wasted lemons.

"Boys do give me orgasms, you know." Good thing I have yet to drink my poison. Spitting out a perfectly good drink because some dumbass has to say something so unbelievably stupid is the worse kind of travesty.

"I didn't want to know." Really, I could live my entire life very happily without ever having to think of Madison orgasming. And who is she kidding? Like I believe a brick like Glen could find any spot. With a map and detailed instructions.

"I do find them attractive." Many people do. Especially before they open their mouths. They're so much more attractive when their mouths are closed. Think about it. The David, the epitome of male beauty, yeah, his mouth, definitely closed. I think I've proven my point.

"I'm glad your vision isn't failing?" Is this going somewhere? Like I told her in jr. high school, I am so not calling her an escort service. Going to the eighth grade dance alone was fine. Plus, it was easier to just sit and eat an immense amount of popcorn. There is just something amazing about popcorn. But, this time, it doesn't really look like it's going to be fine for her. Why does she have to haunt me with her evil? What did I ever do?

"Then why don't I get that feeling with them?" Like I said, not even with a map and detailed instructions. In his defense, it is like an art form.

"What feeling?" Because, like usual, I think I am missing something bigger. Whatever happened with people just having surface discussions? I love surface discussions.

"You know." Obviously I do not know. I do not waste my air on asking pointless questions. I don't even like to waste my air asking you any questions at all. So, no, obviously I do not know. Thanks.

"No." Dumbass.

"The feeling that you know immediately when the person is near." I just chalk that up to some of her mind powers rubbing off on me. That or her angry probing of my mind. "The feeling that makes it so hard to say goodbye. And you end up doing it over and over, and just never leaving." Nope, don't have that problem. I have someone who leaves for me. "That feeling that makes you shake when they touch you. Even if it's just on the arm." Are shaking and burning the same thing? "That feeling that it matters when they leave." Does it ever matter.

"Girls suck." What? It's the only thing I can think of. And I maybe digressing to fourth grade, but this reminds me of the time Colin Green kept stealing her jolly ranchers in fourth grade.

"That's the problem, isn't it?" Wow, I did wear off on her all those years.

"Will you pick you head off the bar." Because I can only imagine what could happen if your germs and those germs were to make an unholy alliance. Good, at least someone listens to me. "What happened to me gross heathen you catholic angel?" Because I do recall something along the lines of 'I don't like girls' coming out of her mouth, you know, after she just slept with one. Maybe I am missing something.

"Why can't it just matter when he's here or not?" Maybe we can switch positions. I want it to not matter, you want it to matter, this should be as easy as a trade with no trade backs.

"Life just isn't fair." Love isn't fair. Love goes out of its way to kick you a little. In the gut or the shins. Or somewhere equally as painful. Love could even kick you in the jugular if it wanted. And it does want, a lot.

"Twelve days until the wedding." Like the sadistic version of the twelve days of Christmas. Great.

Really, this is all her fault, anyways. "Why'd you have to go and set them up?" You'd think being my best friend for so long would give her some intelligence. Just an inkling would have been useful in that situation.

"Shut up." Yeah, you know you're guilty. 'Shut up' screams guilty. Trust me, I should know.

"This is really just all your fault." Because it has to be. It just has to be.

"Shut the fuck up. You have no idea what you're talking about. Fucking drama queen." She always swore when she was frustrated. It wasn't the best habit in third grade.

"Why'd you have to do it, Madi? Why?" Why'd you have to break me? Why?

"I had to." Damnit. Don't put your head back down. Look at me and face your mistake. Do it. Don't be a coward. There's only room for one coward in this conversation.

"You didn't have to do anything." No one ever does. Or so I've been told. Take responsibility.

"I did." I can barely hear her mutter now as she shakes her head into her folded arms.

"Why? What could possibly make you want to put those two together? They have nothing in common." Except for a pension for making me crazy. "They just don't fit."

"We fell in love." It doesn't matter what she means. It doesn't. She can kiss the disgusting bar for all I care.

And because I can't listen anymore, I stand. Because I can't stand anymore, I walk. Because I can't bear to be caught, I run. Because hope needs a way to travel out of my body and into the killing air, I cry. And in my tears I expel the last of it. The very last of it. And now there is just hollow where it once harbored, but it's just not hollow enough inside, because there's still all these crevices filled with memories that are refusing to leave and instead of quiet they keep playing, faster and faster. And now I'm just dizzy and running and cold and now I just don't care.


	27. Dry Your Eyes

**Dry Your Eyes.**

Pushed roughly up against the door. Hot lips tracing my neck teasingly slow. "Are you sure you want to do this?" Does a fat kid love cake? Okay, must learn situation appropriate sayings.

"Doesn't it look like I'm sure?" I grab her arms and push her against the adjacent wall. Nothing says sure like a minor concussion. Concussions are fine when done in passion. I heard that one time.

"You're usually more forceful." I am? Damn me. Well, sometimes it's nice to be the pushee not the pusher. Variety is key.

Oh, please, don't stop the heat. It's pretty much cruel and unusual punishment when someone goes from extreme pressure to no pressure in certain areas of their body. Just saying. "What's wrong?" It better be something super serious, like a bomb triggered an implosion in my body. Wait, no, that's what I am trying to do.

"What about sexy, blonde Shakespeare?" I don't know anyone by that name, but if you are referring to evil's response to Christmas, then I'm trying to replace her heat with the heat from your mouth, and you are making it increasingly hard when you bring her up. So, to put it bluntly, shut up.

"Who?" She doesn't exist.

"Don't play stupid, Ash." I don't really have to play. I could make a career out of it.

My hands on the hem of her shirt pulling it up and over, exposing my next target. Stamps of heat, stamp, stamp, stamp, until I feel the light tremor of her letting go of all those questions. Those questions that I don't have answers for. I reroute my course to her neck, to her ear. "Am I going to have to take off my own shirt?" I really hope not. Sometimes my head gets stuck and it's pretty much the most unsexy situation in the world, and I'm really going for sexy right now.

"Maybe, but I promise you'll have assistance with the pants." And my shirt is over my head before I can register the words. I knew she wouldn't let me down. She knows how to deliver. Might as well work for Dominoes.

"Well, aren't you coy." And coy is totally okay when said coy person's hands are pulling on my belt. My belt that happens to be ridiculously close to other more interesting places. Some would say magical places.

"I hear you like them like that." Well, due to the fact that you just positioned yourself on your knees, I like whatever you want me to like, actually.

"Shut up and take off my belt." What? Sometimes you just got to get in the moment.

"Well, aren't you demanding."

"I hear you like them like that." Or, I infer it because my zipper has been lowered. Generally, this is a good indication of like.

"You're sexy when you're stupid." Awesome. I get to be sexy all the damn time.

"I'm sexy all the time." Yes, you may lower your hands. Thank you very much.

"No need to tell me." Door opening. Karma check. Yeah, that's what I thought, still depleted. Don't those doors lock? Don't I have the brains to lock it? It's pretty hard when you enter the room and a sexy blonde throws you against it, just saying. Oh no, don't jump up. We can just ignore her. I've been doing so well the last couple of days. Come on. This is so unfair.

At least she has glasses on; I'm pretty sure lasers have a weakness in glass. Reflections and all that. "I didn't mean to interrupt." Yeah, you also didn't mean to get Freddy fired but you so accomplished it by opening that door. Zip your pants, Davies. Save some of your dignity.

Common decency would say, when you open a door to two half naked people, you turn your head. I should really get her a book with such rules. She seems to disregard them enough. "That's why you're still standing there?" Staring at my very exposed body. Geez, Doc. Not a piece of meat.

"Spencer, right?"

"I said I didn't mean to. Not that I regret doing it." Well, aren't you brazen.

Wait a second. "What the hell are you doing here?" I see no angry frozen lake, or demon ice. You have the wrong state. Aiden is obviously rubbing way too much off on you. Whoa. Okay, never using that expression again.

"I wanted to see the show." I think they sell this show at cheap porn shops in Chicago too, Doc. It's kind of universal.

"Well, I sure hope you liked it." I was until you showed up, ruining everything per usual.

"It was sold out." Damn right it was sold out. Some people would prefer amazing music to harsh cold. Just saying. Some people have brains. "I didn't get to see it." All your own fault.

"You're sure getting a show right now." Shirt, Davies. Find the shirt. Exhibition went out of style in the seventies.

"Well, that's my cue to leave." Take me with you. There you are, you stupid shirt. Why is it that when in the heat of passion everyone has an amazing throwing arm? This baby was all the way across the room.

"Do you ever keep your shirt on in your dressing rooms?" Look, see, shirt on. I think I proved you wrong. You think you're so smart.

"They are my dressing rooms." Generally the purpose of one is to undress and then get dressed again. It's never stipulated whether or not someone assists you in said action. At least I am using it for its purpose, and all that.

"I'll see you later, Ashley."

"You are the definition of a cock block." Might as well make up road signs.

"Well, I'd hope that wouldn't be an issue." Oh, right, because this is just the best time to be a smartass.

"Trust me it's not." Thank you, outside force. "Now. Goodbye. Hopefully, I will see you both later." Door close. Oh right, Autumn. I'll call her later.

"That's not the point, Doc." You really love to miss points, don't you? "There is such a thing as privacy." They tried to enforce such concepts in kindergarten. I guess you were just too smart for that lesson. Whatever, Doc.

"Yeah, you seem to need it more than most." Uh, have you seen the tabloids lately? I do believe I get none.

"What's that supposed to mean?" At least I know what those tricky biblical writers meant by talking in tongues. And I thought I'd never get it. The things you get every day.

"That's the third time I've caught you!" Well, that'll teach you to leave me alone. I believe I have told you to do so in the past. It doesn't matter how sincere I was. It would avoid situations like this. Again, Ashley Davies: always right. Now, that's a tabloid headline I'd love.

"Caught me?" Wait, hold the metaphorical phone. "There's nothing to catch!" I do believe that sexual intercourse is legal in all fifty states and Canada. Well, most of it. "You don't own me." Nope, not branded yet. Though, that does sound painful but pretty badass.

"You want me to believe everything you say." Yeah, generally that's the reason I say it. "But you're always doing this." And you're implementing impossible and unfair standards on me. Aren't you the head doctor? This is why head doctors should have to get their licenses renewed. Kind of like a driver's licenses. You never know what could set them off. They do hang with crazies all day.

Whatever. "Last time I checked three times wasn't always." Not in comparison to the past. Can't you just let me progress in my own time? I hear it's key in things like this. "And you left." One thousand seven hundred forty eight miles of leaving. "Get over it." So I can get over you and your pension for stealing all my things and me.

"You knew I was coming back." Yeah just as well as I understand how El Niño was a phenomenon.

"This time." And only because all your stuff is here. I really don't trust you not to just leave, Doc. Just leave forever. You're so good at all these mini escapes. I can only assume they are practice for the final act.

"Don't be overdramatic." I'm overdramatic? Who is the one that shows up in the middle of the night spewing old archaic lines for absolutely no reason? I do believe Shakespeare is the father of drama. I rest my case.

"Don't be such a tease." Score one for Davies.

Don't even attempt to roll your eyes. To begin with, you're horrid at it. To end with, I'm right. "Grow up, Ashley." Remember when you kissed me, Doc? You must have seen me as grown then. Or at least, I'd hope so.

This is just becoming ridiculous. It all really is. I'd never pay to read this story. "Just because you shred a file, Doc." And make me love you. "Doesn't mean the things on it aren't true." I still don't play well with others. I'm still pretty toxic. I can't be anything you need me to be and you know that. I can tell by the way you are standing across the room from me as I lean against this wall that was supposed to be my safe place ten minutes ago.

"I know who you are, Ashley." Well, I'm glad that makes one of us. How about you let me in on it as well, because I think I've forgotten myself awhile ago.

"You don't know anything, Doc." How could you when I don't? I just don't think it works that way. I don't think we are working any way, Doc. I just can't think.

"I know." Of course you do. Because you know everything. Ugh. I hate paradoxes.

"Why don't you just run back to Aiden?" You know, the person you're promising a forever to in ten days. Just go start that forever early. "I don't need you here anymore." I'm trying to write over your burn marks in my mind with self dignity. So far, it looks like a huge mess. But I'm trying.

"Aiden brought me to Chicago, Ashley." I think we've covered that, Doc. I think I've covered that a lot in the last week. Like, continuous play in my head. Way to be a broken record. "Aiden brings me to doctors." There are doctors in LA. I had Charles look it up. "What do you do?" Sit here like a dejected puppy. What do you think I do?

"Whatever you want me to do." You just don't ask. You need to ask. It's not my place. It's not. And I don't need to be unneeded. I've gotten that enough.

"It should be what you want, Ashley." Excuse me. You're the one that's ambiguous in your wants. I do believe a six year old with a yoyo and some gum could tell you what I want.

And wait, I do not enjoy what you are insinuating in the slightest. "Are you trying to say I don't want you to get better?"

"I'm trying to say that you're so selfish." Obviously. However. You, you have no right to say so. None at all. Because you write the book on selfish.

"I'm selfish?" Bitch.

"You heard me." Oh, I sure did.

"You're the one dragging me into your overdramatized soap opera of a life." I have enough of my own issues. "Ever hear of such a thing as professionalism, Doc?" Don't even say yes. Hank and I will strongly disagree. And you can't really win against Hank. He sees all.

Don't look at the floor, Doc. You couldn't stomp on that floor as much as you've stomped on me. So it just shouldn't get that privilege. It's unfair. "I tried." Liar. Liar. Liar. And I use to think you couldn't lie.

"Not hard enough, Doc." It's never hard enough when it comes to you. It's always just enough. Just enough to keep me standing here, keep me in this room. It's always just enough. "What am I to you?"

"Ashley." Don't say my name.

"No, really, Doc." Let's try honesty for awhile. I hear in your career path you're supposed to promote such things and the like. Let's remember who you are. "I'm just some stupid toy to you." And who I am. "And I'm so over it." Or trying really hard to be close to something like that. But I've learned that a facade is just as good as the real thing. You can only get so close to reality sometimes.

And then I am against the wall again but this time it's not hot, it's burning, and it's not rough, it's so light, and it's not breathing anymore, it's living. "Is this what you want, Ashley?" You pushing me against a wall? Well, it has been mentioned in a few fantasies now and then.

But, that's really not what I want at all. "No, Doc." I'm scared you'll never be ready or willing to give me anything near what I want.

"My name is Spencer." You're wrong. Your name is beautiful.

This is all too obvious it's painful. Like a cliché love song played over and over again until you want to smash your radio into tiny pieces. "I want you, Spencer."

Lips, ear, lips ear. Her lips near my ear. Breathe. "Then show me." Is this a sick joke?

"That's all I have been doing." In and out, in and out. That's her, that's her air in my ear. Entering my body. My body.

"No, want me." Didn't we just cover this? "Not this image of me you have." Excuse me?

"All I see is you." Every day. Every second. I can't escape you. And your lips are way too close to my skin. Way too close that I can close my eyes and imagine they are touching.

"I'm not perfect, Ashley." You might not think so but when my heart won't even speak to me and will only beat for you, I have to disagree. I have to disagree because every part of me belongs to you. "I'm no superhero." Super powers means super hero. Super heroes save people. You need to save me. You have to be a super hero.

So I kiss her. I kiss her because I need more of her breathing into me. I kiss her because she's so close and I can feel the pull of my soul inside of her. I kiss her because I need her and I always will. But, mostly, I kiss her because she is Spencer. She is Spencer. And that's all she is. And I know that, I know. "Don't push me into walls unless you mean it." And even though a second kiss is all I'll view in picture slides for a million nights, that's all I could think to say.

"Good thing I meant it." And her lips are on mine again, erasing all the self dignity I had tried to paint with scorching lines of passion I'll never be able to recreate. And I just don't care.

Or I do. "You told Aiden you wouldn't do this again." I push her back but gently because I could never bear to let her go quickly. And my hand is still positioned on her arm because I could never cut off this connection to myself. I couldn't. But I'll try.

She looks startled. I know now, I was never supposed to break that kiss. She didn't want me to. And I may regret it. I may regret it forever. "How do you know?" And it's just one of those moments you never get back. Even if you tried.

If I could I'd release her arm. I would. But I don't think she wants me to because if she did I could because she owns them and all. And I don't care if that made sense at all. "I know everything, Doc." Or nothing. Semantics. They almost sound alike.

She does it for me because she always does. She's across the room, leaning against some unknown cabinet, and I am here leaning against a wall of infamy, before I can blink properly. "I want to change everything, Ashley." And I want you to. I really do. And sometimes I think you can, and other times I'm sure you can't.

"That's a lot of things." Or so I am told.

"Too many things."

"Ashley."

"Yeah, Doc?"

"You know, sometimes I need a superhero." I've never been superhero material, Doc. It just isn't in my genes. I live vicariously through the comic books I don't really own. And I always will.

"I think I've been trying the only way I know how, Doc." Even if it's the wrong way. It always is when it comes to me.

I see her nodding, staring intently at something on the floor that I must be missing. "I know." You always do. You just always do. And then she looks up and I remember that my knees are barely holding on from earlier. "Sing to me?" But the only melodies I can think of when you are around are unsung ones. And it seems like they never want to be sung.

"Why?" Must you always ask obvious questions? You're annoying. That's right, Davies. You are annoying.

"I came from Chicago to hear you sing." I never asked you to. I asked you not to go at all. And I don't care how selfish that makes me sound. I don't care.

"I can't."

"Please."

"It's too much, Doc." Those songs are nowhere near ready, and the air would kill them right now.

"Or are we making it too much?" And I wish I understood what you meant by that. But I don't. Because I just can't think. And even if I could. It's doubtful I'd understand at all.

She's moving towards me, and I have no idea her intentions, but I know that they too would be too much. Right now, though, I don't think she cares. But I care. I need to start caring for my sanity. Because obviously the one who is paid to do so is doing a pretty horrid job. "I've got places to be, Doc."

She stops midway through the room. And I am already headed towards the door. She knows now, she has to. She has to know it really is too much for me right now. "Merry Christmas, Ashley."

Is it that time again? Four days until Christmas and I've got nothing to be merry about. Sounds like every other year. "Yeah, you too, Doc." Door, Davies, you are approaching the door. Right, right. "I'll see you around." Because I know I will, and it terrifies me more than it should and again, like always, she doesn't move and I leave and that is that. It's always that. But it feels right this time. Everything feels right even if it's nowhere near merry, even if it is nowhere near gently hidden smiles and quick silent kisses near a fire. At least I still have me, somewhere here, under scorched lines and thick coats of heavy memories. I am still here.


	28. Symphony

**Symphony.**

Fifty eight minutes until this horrid holiday ends. Just fifty seven minutes and forty three seconds. There is nothing wrong with ending Christmas staring at a clock. Actually it's better than some of my other ideas. Those ideas involved sharp objects. I decided that spending Christmas in New York with bag of sunshine wouldn't be the best idea for my perpetually hung over eyes. Or something along those lines. I just didn't feel like leaving California. Leaving state is for those of us with pensions for punishing those around us. Not mentioning names. Not worth it anymore.

I let my entire staff have the day off. I'm still trying to convince myself that it's me trying to be nice and not the fact that I can't stand to see anyone's face but hers today. Lately, that today has been every day, but that isn't the point. Okay, so it's only been four days. But, that so isn't the point either. Is there a point? I'm not actually sure. I've been looking for awhile now.

I just want the damn Christmas season over. And who decided this was THE season? Yeah, maybe for road rage enthusiasts and the world economy, but not for me, not at all. I'm pretty sure it was invented so the happy can rub it in the rest of our faces how happy they are. While the rest of us try to pretend we are happy all the while being reminded even more so how unbelievably unhappy we are. Obviously only the really twisted are unhappy at Christmas. Whatever. I don't mind being twisted. I probably thrive on it.

I should really go looking for my copy of Black Christmas. I believe that Glen Morgan and I have a similar take on Christmas. What a smart guy. Or, I can sit here and wonder why the doorbell just went off. Better question, why'd I get rid of everyone that could check that it wasn't a serial killer for me? Now I have to get up. Just when me and couch were really getting intimate. Eight hours of sitting with just spells intimacy. Ask anyone.

And why haven't they invented houses that floors move you for you? And if said device has been invented, Charles just doesn't do his job right. What good is he? Anyways. I refuse to look at whoever is behind said door. I refuse. Who rings someone else's door at nearing midnight anyways? I can think of a few people, but none that I want to see. Well, that is, if I am lying to myself. I do that pretty well. The fact of the matter is, everyone I can think of that would be behind that door is either a serial killer or has strong sadistic tendencies.

"Ashley." Open your eyes, Davies. Only one person can stop your heart with one word. You know, the person that owns said heart. It would figure. And it figures she'd be at my door forty seven minutes until this horrid holiday ends to remind me that nothing ever ends really. Thanks Doc, thanks for that.

"What the hell –" Did she just push me? She did. She pushed me. Pushed me into my own house. The nerve. And closed my door. Who invited you in? No one. That's who.

"I swear if you call me Doc I am leaving right now." Wait, I'm not that upset over it. It's not even really that nice of a door. You can shut it all you want. And please do. Really. It's kind of cold out anyways.

Your stalling, Davies. "Spencer." When did a name get so heavy? When did words get heavy at all?

Don't just stand there like you own this entranceway. Just because you own me and my organs doesn't mean you own my house. "Much better." It doesn't right?

Wait. What? Nothing is better? She's approaching me. She's approaching me and with every step I lose a little bit more of this resolve I've been working on the last few days. The resolve that told me that I didn't need her to breathe. But as she is getting closer, I'm realizing that even though my lungs are functioning less and less more and more air is getting through. "What are you doing here?" Because I think I've already told you there's no more of me for you to take.

Doc? Did they teach you what personal space was in that fancy school you went to? "Something I should have done awhile ago."

"Wha – " But I don't think words work right about now. I don't think I work right now. Because the wall that I use to think seemed boring and bare on the right of my intricately decorated doorframe is now the place that my passion is painting. And that's always a painting worth viewing. Always. Because she has pushed me into it. Pushed me into it with her lips that I swear aren't lips at all but air, sweet, spring air. But air doesn't have this force, this overwhelming force to it, that is pushing me so deep into the wall, so I don't know what this is at all.

I feel her lips leaving mine as fast as they had greeted them but I don't have time to lament when I feel the heat moving from my mouth to my ear and I know that if she wasn't supporting my entire body with hers then I would have fallen quickly. Damn knees never had a chance against her. "I chew my gum loudly."

Huh? "That's good?" Gum? Really, Doc? You just pushed your knee into places that nearly a million knees have been before but without this added pressure of something extra and you expect me to care about gum? Unless chew gum is some weird innuendo for moan then I don't want to hear it right now.

"I always tap my foot out of beat with songs." From my ear down to my neck, following the path trudged out by my collarbone. You can beat whatever you want whenever you want.

Maybe she's not so painfully aware of her surroundings like I am. Maybe she's not aware of the fact that she is pleasantly branding me with every move of her tongue over my far too parched skin. "Do you know you're kissing my neck?" Because I am very, very aware. And am willing to show you just how much.

"I stop eating when I'm stressed." Now, generally, I'd care that she's ignoring me, but that was before she slipped her hand under my shirt and pulled it over my head. Is it strange that I've never felt so exposed before? So exposed but so safe. Even though she's seen me this way before. But those times it wasn't for her. Those times it didn't matter.

And back to my ear. Okay, I lied any other time I thought she was trying to kill me. Because this, this might do it. "Well, I stop breathing when you do that." I thought she should know that. It seemed important.

"I drink straight out of the carton when no one is looking." I try to suppress a moan, but I fail, like most things when they include her, when her fingers delicately begin to tease the skin above and below my chest. Is it possible to rub fire into someone's skin? Rub it so delicately that it soothes. I think it is.

"Do-" Don't, Davies. "Spe-ncer." Inability to talk? Good sign. "I really don't care." Because there are two things I care about right now. You and you not stopping. Neither of those things have to do with cartons. Well, not necessarily.

Back to the ear once again. I'm surprised my right ear hasn't fallen off in euphoria. "Ashley." Now I think it has. "Please." Anything. Anything for you. "I pick my nails when I'm bored." And I feel her lips taking that trail again, and I feel her tongue gently marking her mouth's way but this time she does not end at my neck as she continues her way down my body.

"Who needs nails, really?" Okay, well, if you are going to use nails down my back I am going to retract said statement. Really. Keeping upright is really starting to become a problem. I feel the clasp of my bra releasing as it gets in the way of the path of her nails and I have no complaints as it messily falls to the floor. Cheap, strapless bras can easily be replaced anyways.

And her lips have met their mark and I can feel my back arch towards her from its place against the wall as I whimper so close to her ear that there's no way she missed it and she pushes me against the wall again, but never breaking contact with my breast. "I get terrible stage fright." She is kissing upwards but at this point it doesn't matter where her lips are as long as they are on me.

"You don't need to be on stage." I'll be all the audience you need. Especially when you bite at my collarbone like that.

She stops. She stops and I shiver because I am scared I'll never be warm like that again. I shiver because I am so exposed to ocean eyes and I feel like I'll never be anything worthy of them looking at. I shiver because I know I am so in love and it's taking all my resolve not to try to engulf her into me. "I try to hide myself behind books or work or my family."

And I slowly reach my arms, that had at some point wrapped themselves around her, and gently pull her white long sleeve over her head to expose an equally as white bra but more importantly the most beautiful porcelain skin I have ever seen. So much so that I am almost afraid to touch it that it might break it or indent it or scar it in some form. And I don't think my eyes can physically detach themselves from this sight. "But I try so hard to see you." I really do.

She nods as she removes her hands from their resting place on my shoulders and slips them behind her back freeing her bra and I gently guide the loosen material down her shoulders, kissing them as the white meshes with my black cloth on the floor. "I know you do." And she places her hands in their previous position, pulling me closer in the process, connecting our lips again finally. And I know the taste of cinnamon will be with me forever. "I don't take my own advice." She talks into my mouth but I don't mind at all.

And I think I'm beginning to understand something for the first time in a long time as I taste the hint of salt on her skin as I kiss and nip down her jaw line mixing with the cinnamon on my senses creating a new taste all together. Something close to perfect. "I don't like looking anyone in the eye." Except you, Spencer, because you can read my mind anyways. You don't need my eyes at all.

She moans as I suck on the skin of her neck and I can feel all my heat building and collecting. "I suppress all my problems and pretend like they're not there." And as her one hand scratches up my back the other finds home on my front, lightly kneading my chest eliciting a silent moan from me to match her own.

And I trace her collarbone with my tongue. "I just want someone to take care of me." I just really need that.

"I write everything I write in pencil." And she presses me closer to the wall.

"I actually don't like mirrors." And she pushes my chin up to meet her lips and I feel it all being dissolved with each inhalation I can feel from her mouth.

"I fell in love with one of my patients." What is it about that word that makes my breath hitch more than the fact that she has stopped her assault to my lips or the fact that her eyes have never looked so intense staring into mine?

That's not enough, Spencer. It's just not enough yet. I can't settle. Not tonight. "I need to hear you say it."

"I love you, Ashley." My heart has stopped and it's a good thing that she's so close because I know I can rely on her heart to beat for me. They're the same anyways.

And with my hands that have been fused to her waist I lift her up and with her mind this is so craftily set to mine she understands and wraps her legs delicately around my waist and I hold her there so close to me, but never close enough, as I try so hard to be fragile with her lips, but I think I am failing miserably. But this is one thing I do not mind failing at all.

I know I am stumbling and I know that I don't stumble but she's always been the exception and we stumble together because she is on me now when I want her so badly inside of me and she trips as I trip trying hard to get to anywhere, anywhere where I can show her how much this means to me. The couch that she once sat on, looking at me while I tried so hard not to look at her, seems to be my closest option so I go for it with her legs still around me and my lips still on her.

I nearly trip entering the room from the hall and I've never been so happy for archways instead of doors because that would have easily become a travesty. Finally reaching my destination, I kneel allowing her to sit on the couch comfortably never releasing her legs from my waist. And I've never been so happy for my trainer before in my life. And her hands are all over my body as she bites down eagerly on my bottom lip. And then her lips are traveling down my body, pass my neck, pass my chest, down my stomach leaving a trail of desire with her tongue and I think I've lost all abilities except the sense of touch.

I reach for the button on her jeans because at this point that button is my biggest adversary, but her hands stop me. "Not here." What? But this was the closest and if it's not here, if it's not here, there's always time for you to change your mind and if you run now that'll be the end of me because right now the entirety of me rests in you and you can't leave me with absolutely nothing. So, right here, right here is best. "Take me upstairs, Ashley." Why is it so hard for me to deny you?

So I stand and reach my hand to her and she takes it and we are standing together, together half exposed, and I can't take my eyes off of her to move. Because what if this is the only chance I have to burn this image into my head? "Don't run." Please.

She smiles that smile that I'm sure is the first thing I fell in love with and shakes her head at me. "Don't leave me." I couldn't if I tried. So I squeeze her hand and begin to back up, through the archway and towards the staircase.

I refuse to take my eyes off of her as we scale the stairs which results in me making more of a stumbling mess of myself. But something tells me that she will be able to see pass that. Something tells me she doesn't mind at all as she kisses me randomly as we go. Kissing me hungrily but always moving. And I back up right into my door. She closes in on me but she simply giggles and opens the door causing me to fall slightly forward. And I realize that it could have been her laugh that I fell in love with first. But then I realize it really doesn't matter at all. Because I am just so completely enamored.

She releases my hand and I watch from the doorway as she slips off her jeans in front of me in the space between the door and the bed, leaving only pale yellow boys shorts in my way. And I move forward after a moment of reverence and I push her as carefully as possible onto the bed because I still am scared of breaking her. But, by the way she sits there and grabs me by the belt loop to bring me as near to her as I can be while my legs still hold me up and by the way she viciously assaults my jeans until they are only a puddle at my feet for me to step out of, tells me that she knows that I am not going to break at all.

And she scoots back on the bed until her head is nearing the head board and I crawl up the bed to meet her. "I knew you were a superhero." She teasingly traces over the superman logo on my boy shorts. And I feel that heat that's been collecting double.

"Only for you." And I forgo her upper region because one look at her everything eyes this might all be over. So I scoot down and kiss the inside her thigh, with her hand through my hair and smile to myself as it causes her to rise off the bed enough for me to notice. And I continue until her moaning is too much for me take and I slide my fingers teasingly under the band of her shorts as I kiss around the top of them.

"Take them off." That is one command I'll never have to be told twice. Ever. And I slide them watchfully off of her perfect legs, the legs I know I noticed first, and for a moment I don't know what to do. I don't know what's expected of me. It's like I've never been in this position before. But when she pulls me by my hips down on top of her again it all comes back to me. And I allow my hand to graze over her center causing her hips to rise to try to meet my hand.

And I've never been able to deny her anything so I bring my hand back to her center and I carefully brush over it again as I taste the salty skin of her breast and listen to her whimper close enough to my ear for me to taste that as well. And soon I switch to the opposite breast and I am no longer brushing over anything but skillfully maneuvering my hand with each sigh she draws out.

I feel her reach under my chin and guide me back to her lips. And I can feel her passion feed into me with the intensity of her lips against mine as I increase my rhythm. I feel her smile on my lips, the lips that I can't get enough of, and that's more than permission to me. It's just more than that. And I kiss her hard in understanding but I release her lips to stare into her eyes as I allow my fingers to enter her. Her eyes close at first but then open and look straight at me and I've never felt so full, so complete in my entire life. And I never want this to end. I want to be part of her forever. And she kisses me again long and hard but she can only do it so long until breathing becomes an issue. So I kiss her gently not needing reciprocation, her hand grasping onto my free hand is enough for me.

And I think I can make out her moaning my name, but that doesn't matter right now. And I can feel her matching the rhythm of my fingers, but that doesn't matter either. Because the only thing I can concentrate on is her face. Her parted lips and her eyes that are trying so hard to stay open, trying so hard to meet mine. But I don't mind when they close because I always see them anyways. I don't mind at all. So I kiss her neck trying hard to be gentle but losing due to the fact that she is moaning my name and things like that do not produce caution. I'm sure she'll bruise in the morning. But right now, I want that. I want her to remember like I know I always will.

And I feel her heat building through the way she grabs at my back and pulls me down closer to her and the way that she bites at my ear hungrily. And I let my thumb roll over her center once more as I continue my pace and I feel her constrict as she says my name frantically into my ear. And as she moans and whimpers loudly I think I have finally discovered what heaven is made out of. And she slumps down with her eyes closed but a smile slowly grows on her face. And when she opens her eyes and looks at me I don't think I've ever been so in love. "I love you, Spencer." So I tell her.

"I love you, Ashley." And this, this is what heaven is made out of.

"Oh yeah?" Because I just have nothing intelligible to say.

She kisses me, pulls back, and tilts her head. "Your turn?" No one in their right mind could question why I love this woman. No one.

"No, not tonight." Even though I'm wetter than I ever have been. Even though it wouldn't take much. I just can't ruin this. This, right now. "I just want to hold you." I feel like it's all I've ever wanted.

And it's worth it as she smiles for me, because of me, and curls up into my arms, entwining our legs, as she makes no move to reach for her clothes. And I kiss her head softly as she sighs in comfort pulling me as close to her as I can physically be. Because I'm already as close as I can emotionally be. And I need to tell her somehow what this means. What it means to me. "I've dreamt about this." Over and over again.

"I like to dream with my eyes open." I think you've told me something like that once upon a time. I just can't seem to remember.

"Is this a good dream then?"

"I'd say one of the best I've ever had."

"Can this last forever?"

"Can tonight be our forever?"

"I think we can manage that." I think I can try.

"Well, then forever it is." And she reaches somehow deeper into me as she intertwines our hands as well, and it doesn't take long for me to fall asleep in the comfort of knowing that tonight I sleep with an everything. An everything that gave me a chance to paint a masterpiece.


	29. Vulnerable

**Vulnerable.**

This better be an earthquake shaking me. Too bad I know earthquakes don't shake this gently. "Ash, are you awake?" Seriously? If more than one shake is required that generally means that the person is sleeping. Come on, keep up. You're the smart one.

I'd roll over if I wasn't conscious enough to realize her arms were still around me and her breath that once puffed against my cheek accidently was doing it now purposely and without any hint of whiskey."Never, ever before nine." I'll just lie here against her, facing her, with my eyes closed. Because I've never been this comfortable. And because, I don't want them to open. I'm so scared this is one of those dreams. You know, the perfect ones. And I don't want to wake up.

"That's a lie." Once you get a response, one generally stops the shaking. Thanks anyways, Doc. Time to open the eyes, Davies. There always comes a time. But, unlike I suspected, nothing is fading away from me. It's clearer and sharper and I've never been so happy to see dark blue eyes staring intently into my own that I inadvertently strengthen my hold on her. I still haven't given up completely on the idea that she can teleport, you know. Was that a kiss? I don't care if it was the cheek. That was a kiss. That was a kiss in the morning hours. Even if the sun hasn't risen, even if the dew probably hasn't formed, this is out of the moment. This is the morning to our night. "Morning." Stop being so cute. It's going to be hard to be mad at you at this rate, and early morning waking is grounds for anger.

Oh, stop smiling at me. How are you so awake? "Are you bleeding?" Good reason to awake before the sun. "Is the house on fire?" Even better one. "Is it finally Armageddon?" Best one I can think of. It best be one of the three.

"Finally?" What? It's always impending. Come on. "Anyways, no." Ugh, figures, doesn't it?

So, how sadistic are you actually? "What time is it?"

"4:45." Very sadistic. Why'd I ask? Okay, that kiss was dangerously close to my lips. If you keep doing that, Doc, I'll think you mean it. And then, well, and then nothing, I guess. There is nothing else. I'm already yours. "Don't be mad."

Right. Like I could be mad after that. "That better be PM." She doesn't need to know it though. Sadly, from that increasing smile, she knows it like she knows all. Again, figures.

Her hands stroking my hair. Stop getting turned on, Davies, it's just your head. "Will you play the guitar for me?" Seriously? Okay. That is not a good reason. You should have just stuck with one of the three above. I practically handed them to you. And don't give me those eyes. I can ignore them. I can.

"Sophie doesn't wake up 'til at least nine either." See, watch me. Anyways, she is a very practical guitar. She knows, unlike some people, when it is appropriate to move. So, let's just lay here. You know, until forever. That be nice.

"You named your guitar Sophie?" Oh, don't even start.

"Ugh, what's wrong with the name Sophie?" It means wisdom. It's French. Not that I looked it up or anything. What? Naming a guitar is a very sensitive topic. They're better than children. They don't scream in restaurants unless you instruct them to do so.

"Aw, nothing." Okay, that kiss was definitely on my blissfully bruised lips. You can't take that one back. Sorry. "It suits you." Hey, wait. Why?

"Suits me?" Explain yourself.

"You going to play for me, or what?" Oh, don't ignore me. I know you can hear me. Even if you were deaf, mind reading is above that and all. Get over it, Doc.

"How does it suit me?" Wait, wait. Don't leave. It's officially significantly colder now. And that was significantly less than the forever I was planning. However, I am now privy to a very good view of the most gorgeous body I have ever seen. So conflicted. But the good kind of conflicted. "Come back here and tell me." I've decided that no matter how unbelievable the view is from here no view is complete without you next to me, so come back. Yeah, I am aware of how that sounded. Or. You can ignore me and rifle through my closet. How do you know she's in there anyways? "Ugh, Doc!"

Here's the thing, Spencer Carlin is straddling me. And if you were in this position, you would be incapable of conscious thought too. "What do I have to do to get you to call me Spencer?" Uhm. Right now you are failing. Because if this is the reaction I get when I call you Doc, I'll be calling you Doc a lot.

I guess I can humor her a little. "Tell me why it suits me." I still want to know, a little. However, those thoughts are very quickly being replaced.

Especially now. As she sucks on my earlobe. Great, thanks earlobe for being so damn sensitive. Keep it in your pants, Davies. "Is that the only way?" No, I actually think I can come up with a plethora of ways. Tons and tons of ways. I think we should try them all out.

Or, I can sum it all up. "Tell me why I've been missing out on five AM." Because that's the most important question of all.

She laughs lightly in my ear, and I am positive now that it was in fact her laughter that I fell for first. It had to be. "Because you don't do before nine." That was barely conscious me. Painfully aware me does before anytime you want me to.

"I do now."

"Good." And she kisses me. And I don't care if the taste of cinnamon has faded. I never needed it anyways. "That means you can play Sophie for me."Ugh. I might be enamored completely with you, that doesn't mean Sophie will like to be awakened.

"You know, Sophie has feelings too."Hey, don't give me stifled laughter. She does. She's very temperamental. Just ask my fingers. They have bled from tuning her. "And she doesn't like when you laugh at her name." She's sensitive about it.

"Oh, I think she can get over it." She kisses me as she gets up. Okay, I don't know about Sophie. But I'm totally over it. Over it. Especially because I'll have the image of Spencer Carlin naked holding my guitar for the rest of my life. Sometimes, some things are just perfect. This is one of them.

Formulate words, Davies. "Yeah, me too." Sorry, Sophie. I'll be on your side once you find a way to give life sustaining smiles. And way to be a heavy sitter, Spence. Bouncing the bed is unnecessary. It's no wonder Hank likes me better. Aw, Hank. How I miss him. "Come on, don't bounce on HJ." I don't need a Hannah Senior moment right now.

"HJ?" Don't give me that look, Doc. I'm not always vulgar.

"Hannah Junior."

"You named your bed too?" Is this really a huge surprise to you?

"What? I couldn't refer to her as bed. It's so overdone." Not that I often refer to my bed by name to people. But, I figure, she already knows how insane I am. It can't get much worse.

"You know what else is overdone?" The fact that you are not in fact straddling me anymore. So overdone.

"Hm?"

"This." And she kisses me hard and another part of me dies and is reborn as hers. And if that's the case, I hope that she'll do it for every last one of my cells. There's like one hundred trillion in the human body. Just saying.

"Oh no." She is so wrong. "That hasn't been done enough." Truest story I've ever told.

"Now."She hands me Sophie. Oh come on, I just pissed her off. Don't give her to me. "Play me a song." Can you say demanding?

The eyes. I lose. There was no fight at all. "Your wish is my command, your majesty." She knows it, I know it. Might as well voice it.

"Oh. I like the sound of that." And that surprises no one.

"You would."

I know what song is in my head. All because my mother graced me with her yearly call last night. Lucky me. "Watching you watching me. Girl, ain't it easy to see? That it's my loving you that puts the starlight in your eyes." She used to hum it when drunk, or whatever she really was when she was posing as drunk.

And why are you gracing me with your lousy attempt at an eye roll? "Now, that's a song already." New song in my head. "A bad song at that." Yeah, you're telling me. At least it doesn't scar some of your funnier childhood memories.

New song, new chords. "I guess I get a B in originality." That's right. I'm witty.

"Smartass." True. "Plus, it's wrong." You would tell me I'm wrong. No surprises here. Good thing at this point I really don't care.

"It's wrong?"

"You're watching me, watching you." Semantics, Doc, semantics.

"Who said I'm watching you?" Are you kidding me, Davies? There might as well be drool involved. Okay, gross.

"That stupid smirk you have on your beautiful face." She called me beautiful.

Focus, focus. "My smirk isn't stupid."

"What, you didn't name it too?" I don't make it a habit to name things that don't belong to me. Things get too complicated at that point.

"And you called me the smartass?" Pot meet kettles. Once again. I really should get her a book of amazing proverbs. She obviously needs them.

"I'll call you some other things." And I accidently drop Sophie on the floor. If she didn't hate me before, she sure does now. Oh well, not important. I think I need to take a sampling of these said names. Actually, you know what? Let me get more comfortable to listen.

What? It's not my fault that I feel the most comfortable when my lips are on her earlobe. Well, when my lips are on her anywhere. "Oh yeah?" Her moans will eventually kill me. Best death, ever. "Like?"

"Well, I'd tell you, but you still haven't played me a song yet." Ugh, persistence isn't always great. Nope, not at all.

How do I get out of this? "How about Christmas presents then song?" Because I've currently developed my first set of stage fright ever. And even though the songs are ready, I don't know if I am. And I don't know why.

Head tilt in my direction. Stop reading me. If I don't get it, you can't get it. Those are the rules. "Well, I guess we can do that."

We? Does that mean? "Wait, you got me something?"

"Of course I did." Score. Again.

"Is it handcuffs?" What? One can always hope for things like that.

"Wait here, it's in my car." And she stands. Okay, I've changed my mind. Presents don't sound all that great. Really, you should just come back. Best idea that I could have right now.

"But that means you have to get dressed." Nothing like stating the obvious.

"It does." Ugh, she's up and slipping on the yellow boy shorts that were my adversary yesterday. Now it's tenfold. Stupid underwear.

"I don't like that idea." Not at all.

"Ashley." Hey, how did she know which drawer had my tanks tops? Why do you ask yourself stupid questions, Davies? "It would happen sooner or later." Or later and latest. Or something.

"Well, I vote later." Much later. Like, years later. Centuries later if I had the option.

"I'll be right back." Wait, wait. If you are in fact leaving this room you better put more clothes on. Who knows who could see you. I hear those google satellite things are getting really strong.

"I'm going to pout." That's the only vocal complaint you could come up with, Davies? It's no wonder this has taken so long. Why don't you learn to use your rhetoric skills?

"What else is new?" And I have been owned.

"You're so mean to me." Aw, but when you kiss me I don't care.

"I'm never mean to you." And she leaves. For the record, anytime you walk out that door you're being a little mean to me. Just saying. Ugh. I need a shirt. That requires standing. Thanks, thanks a lot. I too throw on a tank top. Hm, how is it that I retained my underwear? I'll think about it later. I sit back on my bed. Maybe I haven't been giving Sophie enough attention. It's been so long that I've played her for enjoyment.

"I'm back." Well, I'm glad I didn't pick Sophie up yet then. You would like it too much. And after you put your clothes on and left with such little on you don't deserve it. And did you race to your car? You probably walk like you drive.

Oh well. At least you're not the only one that states the obvious, Davies. "I know."

She hands me a flat, long box. "So, open your present." I love unwrapping presents.

She sits back next to me on the bed. "Rudolph wrapping paper, really?"

"I'll take it back." I'd take you seriously if you weren't smiling. You should work on that.

"This doesn't look like handcuffs." All boxes deserve shaking. "It doesn't sound like handcuffs." And I know what handcuffs sound like. Try to hide the disappointment, Davies.

"Well, maybe they are tiny handcuffs." Do not kid, Spence. Do not kid. I'm bad at hiding disappointment.

So I lift open the box. Wait, wait. Superman lifting car. Wait. "Doc…" Action Comics # 1. The omega of comic books. "This is too much." Oh my God. Should I be touching it? Fingerprints on the plastic are a no. Even the plastic it touches is like gold. "Less than one hundred copies still exist." Breathe. Breathe. "This must have cost a fortune." Yeah, just a little rude. Get a brain for a second.

"I know a guy, that knows a guy, that knows a guy." And all those guys better keep their hands to themselves. Just saying.

Wait, wait, flashbacks. "Don't sound too mobster, Bugs."

"Well, my dad is part Italian." Called it.

"I knew it." Called it like a month ago, just saying. "I love it, Doc."This baby is getting its own case in its own room. "I just love it." No one else could find something this perfect.

"I hear it was the first appearance of Superman." This baby introduced the superhero genre of comic books. It started it all. "I figured superheroes needed to be in good company." I already had good company. No comic book could replace that.

Hey, wait a second. "How did you know I collected?"

"A hunch." Yeah, at this point, you should just admit it. The evidence is overwhelming.

"Mind reader." Don't shake your head at me. So true.

"Comic book geek." Ouch. The painful truth comes out.

"I love you." Really. It was the only thing my lips were going to let me say. You can't blame me. Especially if you were staring at someone who gives you everything.

"You love Superman." Okay, true too.

"Superman has nothing on Spencer Carlin." Even truer statement.

"Is that so?" Nothing has anything on Spencer Carlin.

"Oh, it's a fact."

Especially when Spencer Carlin kisses me like that. Who needs air? "Well, I love you too, Ashley Davies." Do you think she'd say it over and over again if I asked her to?

Or maybe I should just be happy for what I get. "It's my turn." Too bad mine is nothing like this. Way to make me look bad. Way to make me look bad.

I get up and get the box from the closet. I only had red paper to wrap it in. It was the best I could do. Usually Charles takes care of getting everything wrapped, but I didn't want him to see this. I walk back and sit next to her once again. "It better not be handcuffs." Like I would have bought you handcuffs. I don't want to deal with laser eyes.

"I better take it back then."

"Ashley…" I hand it over and look down to my hands. Watching people open my gifts has always been kind of painful to me.

I know she's opened it because jewelry boxes have a distinct noise when they open. My insides turn. "Here's the thing. I know jewelry is really cliché, but you told me that gray was your favorite color so I figured silver was probably better than gold, and diamonds last forever, or someone told me that, and the sapphire is for your eyes, and…"But she cuts me off with her lips. It's definitely for the better.

"I love it." She loves the silver necklace with the diamond heart with the blue sapphire middle that tries so hard to be as blue as her.

"You do?"

"I do."She nods and smiles and I smile back and I don't think I'll ever hate Christmas again. Even if it is a day late. "Will you help me put it on?" She pulls her hair away from her neck and I can't help but place a gentle kiss on the new exposed skin.

"Of course." I take the necklace and place it around her neck. And she turns towards me and hugs me close to her. It matches perfectly. Even if she is only in a white tank top and yellow boy shorts. It all fits. "There's one more thing." She releases the hug and I reach under my bed. I didn't bother wrapping this. Mostly because I didn't think I'd give it to her at all. But also because this isn't a present at all. This is just what she deserves. "Here."

"You know I wrote this, right?" It's a copy of the first of her series. A disheveled, used copy.

"I know a guy, that knows a guy, that knows a guy."

She smiles and I laugh because really I don't care about knowing anyone else but the inhabitants of this room. "Who's the smartass now?" Never claimed not to be.

"I'll be the smart ass because you have the cute ass."

"Did you really just say that?" Ugh, yes. Well, at least it's a mild inner monologue if anything has to be leaked to the listening public.

"Don't tell anyone." Mostly because I can't stand to blush like I'm doing right now. I don't look good with red cheeks. Ask my mother.

"Yeah, it might ruin your rep." What rep? I lost that, oh, about two months ago. But, if you find it, at this point, you can tell it it can stay lost.

"Are you insulting my rep?"

"Would I ever do that?" Are you kidding me?

"I'm pretty sure it's your favorite pastime." Right up there with killing me pleasantly and waking me up at ungodly hours. You'd make quite the account.

And she kisses me and whispers into my mouth, "Maybe I'm discovering a new favorite pastime." Focus, Davies. Focus. You had a mission.

So I hold her close but break the kiss. "Open the book." And she does and I watch as she leafs through the pages. "I wanted to tell you my thoughts on it." I've only read them three times through. "And I know some people didn't really read them." Don't go there right now, Davies. Don't. "And I just really wanted you to know I liked them, and stuff." And stuff? Really? Articulate much?

"Did you write on every page?" My handwriting is microscopic. Thinking back, this was probably a terrible idea.

"There was one or two that I didn't have anything to say." Actually one and a half. But, whatever. "I started the second book but it's only half way through, so…" But she doesn't let me finish again as she pulls me into her.

"Thank you." She kisses my temple as she releases me.

"Don't thank me." For once, I really don't need it, at all. "There are some presents in there for Blue Eyes." I point to the closet. I had Charles get those wrapped. I demanded snowman wrappings. I won't be part of the whole Santa Claus mirage. I can look the kid in the eyes then, in the future, and tell him that I never conspired against him like the rest of the world.

"You didn't have to." Well, I know that. There's only three of them anyways. There was going to be more but Freddy convinced me spoiling someone else's kid was a bad idea.

"Yeah, well, the little guy stole my heart a little." Not as much as his mother.

"So, that's where it's at."

"Actually." That's completely wrong. So I point to where it really is. "I believe it's right here." In her chest, beating alongside her own.

I'll never grow tired of kissing her. "I do have to get going though." No you don't. Really. We have food. We have water. We can be sustained for long periods of time.

"Is there any way I can convince you not to?" Don't look too pathetic, Davies. Please.

She stands and offers me her hand. I guess that's a no. "He's at my dad's and I want to be there when he wakes up." And where's daddy dearest? Don't ask, Davies. Don't ask.

"Not even a song?" I stand but point to Sophie.

"Promise me a song next time?"

Do not stutter. "Next time?"

"Ashley." And she grabs both my hands and leans over and kisses my nose. "Next time." There's going to be a next time. A next time like this.

But, what about all those things I don't want to bring up? What about them? "Spencer…"

"I can't tell you when." I knew there had to be stipulations. Nothing is this good. Nothing could be. Especially not with me. "I have a lot to take care of." Things just don't disappear when you don't talk about them, when you try so hard to avoid them. But I tried so hard. And then she squeezes my hands as she swings them freely. "Just know, I meant it." And I'd believe anything you told me at this point, so I don't care what you mean.

"Okay." I release her hands, not because I want to, but because if I don't I'd continue to beg. I just know that's the way I would do it. "Make sure you take his gifts with you." I walk into the closet and pick up the overgrown bag that houses them, as she pulls her discarded jeans up over her perfectly sculpted legs.

"Thank you, Ashley." She takes the bag from my outstretched hand. I wish she'd stop thanking me. I really wish she would because I need to thank her, but I can't think of a way to do it. I just can't.

"Let me walk you to the door." I offer her my arm and she slides her free arm into it.

"Aren't you chivalrous."

"So I've been told."

"Have you?"

"Never." We descend the stairs in silence, arms linked closely. And I smile as she blushes as she picks up her bra and slips on her discarded shirt from the night before. And I remember a time I thought she couldn't blush at all.

All too soon we are standing in front of the door, by a wall that I'll never think is plain again. "Thank you, Ashley." I wish she'd stop that.

"For what?"

"I really thought you'd close the door in my face." We both know I couldn't do that. We both know I didn't even try.

But I can't find the right words again. Where did they all go? "Shut up and come back soon." Please, just, don't let soon turn into never. Please.

"I love you, Ashley." Love has a forever kind of connotation though, doesn't it?

"I love you, Spencer." So, I watch as she walks off my front step to her car. I try not to notice that the sun is only starting to rise. And she waves and I wave back. And once I know she has past the gate I close the door, but this time it's alright. Or I am telling myself that with every step I retreat back into my house.

So, I climb my stairs alone, but not really alone. And I sit on my bed, that will never just be my bed again. And I pick up Sophie, who knows she'll never be my number one girl again, and I strum the guitar strings that are far from broken, and I play a familiar song that's impeded itself into my head. "I was born to tell you I love you. Isn't that a song already? I get a B in originality. And it's true I can't go on without you. Your smile makes me see clearer. If you could only see in the mirror what I see. And your slowly shaking finger tips show that your scared like me..."


	30. Now Comes the Night

**Now Comes the Night. **

I'm getting that doorbell yanked out of the wall. I've been trying to meditate for the last hour. And when I say meditate I mean get emotionally involved into General Hospital. Thank God for Tivo; it makes it substantially easier. "Charles what am I paying you for?" Of course, no answer. Of course not. I am officially paying him for nothing. Actually, now that I think about it, what exactly is his job? Oh well.

I hop off the couch and make for the front door. My lovely, beautiful, amazing front door that I would give a large bonus too, you know, if it could accept money, because it's the door that one, Spencer Carlin, pushed her way into, and that would make it the best door in the universe. Ask anyone. Well, anyone with half a brain.

I open the door. Wait. This girl isn't blonde. Nor does she have blue eyes. Nor is she attractive at all. Or, I have to say that because it's like illegal or something to check out your own sister. But I mean, she does at least have to be half hot because she is my half sister, or something. I'd continue those thought if I wasn't positive that there is now a burning handprint across my face. I think she hit me.

Correction. I know she hit me because she is going for it again. I grab her arm before she has the opportunity. Ugh, women are crazy. "I can't believe you, Ashley." Me? I'm not the one who shows up at other people's houses swinging. I think that's a little bit more unbelievable than watching Soapnet for four hours

Perhaps it's a pod person. Again, they are frequent nowadays with all that new technology and such. "Kyla?" The Davie's eye roll. Has to be her. You need the right genes for that. Could never be duplicated.

"I thought just maybe you were growing up." Can she see my Scooby Doo underwear? I'm confused.

"Kyla…"

"That you had learned that other people have feelings." Perhaps she is speaking of her Christmas gift. It's not really my fault. I was in a hurry. It was the day before Christmas. I had given Charles the day off. I forgot about her. And Sears was on my way.

"I know that." Plus, there are worse things than a rice cooker, really. They were in-between the remote control finders and hair curlers. Now that I think about it, who is in charge of organization at Sears?

"Just shut up." She must really hate rice. "You never have." Okay, getting the feeling we aren't on the same page at all.

"What the hell is your problem?" Don't look scandalized. I'm not the one speaking in tongues.

"She has a family, Ashley." Oh.

"Who?" Who do you think, Davies?

"She was getting married!" If you smile due to the past tense usage in that sentence I assure you, Davies, she'll go for your jugular. "Do you even care?" Do I care that she left a man with too big hands that kisses her too hard?

Well. "I care about her." And I know our hands work together because I felt the puzzle fit perfectly when she entwined them, and I know I could never kiss her too hard.

"Oh, right. Like you care about everyone else, right?" Not exactly how I care about everyone else.

Hey, I know what you are insinuating. "I care."

"Ashley, you are incapable of caring." That's not true. It isn't. I care. I really do. She knows it. She told me so. Kind of.

"Shut up." Just, shut up. Because you don't understand. Because you never lived in ten minute increments of time or lived in times like five or seven o'clock and you've never seen Spencer Carlin naked holding your guitar and you've never had to watch her leave over and over again.

"And what about Ian and Aiden and everyone else's lives you've destroyed?" No, no. I didn't destroy Blue Eye's life. He deserves a happy mom, doesn't he? A happy, healthy mom. And Aiden. Aiden always gets over these types of things. Doesn't he? "What about Spencer?" That's impossible. I could never destroy any part of Spencer.

And what about the parts of me that may or may not be destroyed? "I didn't make her do anything." She came to me. She pushed me against walls. She is the one who is always creating the moments and holding me into them. Her. Not me.

"You always get what you want, don't you?" Yes. But that doesn't apply here. Not at all. I don't want her; I need her.

"This is different." Don't look at me like that. How could she be anything but different? Haven't you met her?

Don't roll your eyes. Damnit. "Different than the hundreds of others you've fucked?" I did not fuck Spencer Carlin. No one could just fuck Spencer Carlin.

"I love her, okay?" It's strange to tell someone else. Like I've been keeping a beautiful secret that just needs to be let out. "I love her." And once again.

Don't stand in my entranceway staring at me disbelievingly. It's true. "You don't know how to love." Harsh.

"How to fuck would you know?" How would any of you know? I was jut never worth it for you to look at that hard. So don't tell me what I can and cannot do.

"You just don't get it." I don't think you get it. Not at all. But that's not my problem. You're the one not worth it this time.

"Obviously."

She looks down to the floor. She's shifting her weight from foot to foot. I do that too. I do that a lot. "I hate you so much right now." And I deserve it. But not for this. Never for this.

"You always hate me." Even though I know you never have, you probably should have.

She closes the door and leans against it. Wait, who invited you in? "You're such an idiot." I've been aware of that for a long time now. Thanks.

But that's not the point right now. "Can you just leave?" I think this conversation has been long over.

She pushes off the door and stands in front of me. Ugh, the door is the other way. "That's always what you want from me." Her eyes are glaring into me again. You know, I've never met Kyla's mom. Her eyes are lighter than mine; I wonder if they're hers. "Just leave Kyle; shut up Kyla; go die Kyla; and now you are destroying my family." Her family? There's just that little roadblock of DNA.

"I'm your sister." DNA tests have proven it. Trust me, I demanded to see them.

"But, they're my family, Ashley." That's not right. Not at all. Then who's my family?

"We share blood." And eye rolls and mannerisms and our headshake, our headshake is the same.

"That doesn't make a family." I watch as her shoulders slump. "Why do you have to hurt them?" Why do they have to hurt me? They've hurt me too.

At least, I know one thing for sure. "I'd never hurt Spencer." Damnit. I feel like I am on continuous repeat today.

"You're hurting everyone." No, no, that's wrong. Being wrong also seems to run in the family.

"She loves me." She told me so. More than once. At night and in the morning. And she promised.

"You've never cared about anyone loving you before." I suppose that is true. But all I've ever had before was empty words. And empty words aren't love. And nothing about Spencer is empty.

"No one ever has." Or they didn't make me feel it. They didn't make it excruciating to be without them. They didn't make me need them.

Another eye roll. She is borderline taking my title from me. "Don't give me your self pity." It might be all I have to give right now, though. "Aiden loved you. Madison loved you. I love you. And you've hurt us all over and over and over again." But, what about my intentions? Don't they matter? I never meant to. Well, not seriously in Madison's case. But, she did do it first.

I guess it really doesn't matter. "Get out of my house." I can't handle this anymore.

"What are you going to do if I don't? Not talk to me? Wouldn't be much of a change." Did I mention we share the same attitude? These are situations, however, that the police are made for.

Whatever. "I hate you." I lean against the infamous wall.

"You wish you did." And Kyla leans next to me, marking herself into the wall as well.

"I can't hurt her." I turn my head to look at her because this is important. "I won't hurt her." I think I need convincing now too.

"I won't let you." Maybe I need Kyla a little bit too.

"Don't let me." Kyla grabs my hand and squeezes it gently. "I didn't mean to." I need her to understand.

"You never mean to." She gives me a weary smile. It's the best I am going to get from her today. "It's just what you do sometimes." I lay my head on her shoulder and she lays her head on mine and it feels fine.

Until my front door opens. Without my permission, by the way. "Aiden!" I'm glad she found her voice because I'm still speechless.

"How did you get in?" There we go, Davies, the power of speech.

He hasn't moved since he rudely opened my front door. Rude or psychopath I haven't decided. "Kyla, can you go?" And now he's kicking my visitors out. Did I miss the part where he bought my house? Breaking and entering is a little bit more than a misdemeanor.

"I don't think…"

Ugh. "Just go." Are you mentally challenged, Davies? "I'm fine." I guess there's no reason to have witnesses to the carnage that is sure to ensue with or without witnesses. Plus, what's stopping it from being an unfair tag team match to the death? Exactly.

She looks between us. "I love you both." She kisses my cheek and then his and waves goodbye with her hand on the doorknob and then she's gone.

Great. Alone with psychopath. Really? Who opens someone else's door? Well, who hires security that would let a psychopath through? Ugh. "How did you get in here?"

He walks past me and into my dining room. Hello? Did you hear me? Stupid rock. Stupid fucking inanimate object walking past me like this isn't my house. If I didn't just sleep with his wife, I'd kick him where I know it would probably hurt. You never know with Aiden. I follow him into the room just in time to see him sit at the table. Damnit. The maid just cleaned that. Great. Okay, if you jut want to sit there and stare at me, I can't blame you.

But, in this situation it's more than his usual creepy. "Are you going to answer me?" Before I call the police.

"She left me Wednesday." The day she left here. She did it that day. She actually did it. He lowers his head into his hands and I watch as his body slumps down into the chair. "I wouldn't believe her." His head is shaking in his hand so his hair matters more and more with each shake. You know Aiden is upset when his hair is a skewed. "I wouldn't. So, I went to Chicago on Thursday pretending like she needed space." She does. From you. Indefinitely. "Like it would be okay when I got home Saturday. We were supposed to get married today." Today was supposed to be the day my world was going to end. "Today at sunset, and now I have no idea where she is or where my son is." At least that makes two of us.

Wait, that isn't a good thing. Not for either of us. "She's missing?"

He raises his head out of his hands and looks pointedly in my direction. Well, as pointedly as Aiden can get. "You slept with her didn't you?" I guess she didn't tell you that part of the program. She always does leave out the best parts.

You're being really insensitive, Davies. I just don't want to bring myself to care. "It wasn't like that." It wasn't like anything before. Don't look at me like that, I already got that today.

"I was going to make her happy, Ashley. I was going to take care of her."

"I can make her happy." I did make her happy. I do make her happy.

"I love her. I've loved her for ten years." But that doesn't matter. It doesn't. Because quantity doesn't matter in things like this. Quality does. And no one could love anyone as much as I love her. No one. "And she loves me." That's not true. "And we have a son together. Do you understand that?" I understand a lot.

But. "I love her." And she loves me.

"Like you used to love me?" No, you idiot, nothing like how I used to love you. I was a sophomore in high school. Do fifteen year olds even know what love is?

"Aiden…"

"You've been punishing me since we lost the baby." What! What in the hell would posess him to bring that up. Why would he ever bring it up?

"That's a lie."

"After it happened, you left me completely alone." No, Aiden, I was completely alone. You had your parents and your two dogs and my best friend. Remember that? "To grieve by myself." I needed time. I just needed more than you could give me. "But then I got over it because Madison at least made me feel like I was needed. But then you slept with her." Back then she was more than just a her, thanks. And it was never supposed to happen then. It just did. You were nowhere on my mind. Trust me.

But, that barely counts. "She stayed with you."

"Only because you pushed her away." And why did I push her away? Oh right. Because she did it to me first. More than once. So, in a way, you won that one. Congrats.

"That had nothing to do with you." And trust me if I could blame you for that travesty I already would have. So, get over yourself.

"Right, it never does, right?" Yeah, that sounds about right. "What about Spencer? What about my wife?"

Hold the phone. "She's not your wife." She doesn't want to be. And she never will be. Never.

"In every way except in paper." Okay, I'll go slowly for you. Marriages usually include love and love usually includes not leaving and, well, I don't see her with you. Do you?

Whatever, I don't have to deal with his ignorance. "Get out of my house." Hear that, Rock? My house.

Okay, you don't look like you're moving. "You found out that I was happy. That I had a beautiful, caring fiancé and you had to try to take her away from me."

This is getting a little old. My patience is running a little thin. "Self absorbed much?" Was he always this bad?

He hits the table with both hands. Damnit. That is expensive. First he dirtied it, now he's trying to break it. What an ass. "You won't be able to take her too." I'm confused. Who else did I take?

Wait a minute. "Didn't she already leave you?" You know, note the disheveled hair, the words 'she left me', her sleeping with me. He stands and walks towards me. Okay, anything within three feet is way too close for comfort. Kay? Thanks.

"She's pushing me away, Ashley. Don't you get that?" That's not true. She said she meant it. She meant it no matter what. "She's using you to push me away." What do you know anyways? Don't touch my arm, you ass. I throw his arm away forcefully.

"Why would she even bother?" That's not true because she could get up and leave you without sleeping with me, without spending forever moments with me. Spencer would never hurt me.

"Because she knows she's not fine anymore." What does that mean? What does that mean, you jackass? She looked fine. "And she wants to save me from the pain of her dying." She's not going to die. People like Spencer Carlin can't die. Nothing good would ever want to take Spencer Carlin away from the world. Nothing. "But, I love her and I don't plan on leaving her." Right, because she left you. Damnit. Can you hear yourself?

"She loves me." I point to myself, in case he needs a visual. I hear that helps sometimes. "Me, Aiden, me." At least, that's what she said. I still think she knows everything.

"Ten years, Ash, ten years." It doesn't matter. It just doesn't matter. Ten years isn't that long anyways. Right? Right. "What do you have?" All these memories and thoughts that I think could fit into your ten years. That's what I have. "Two months." Don't mock me. "This is what she does, she pushes people away." Yeah, you're telling me, but she stopped. She stopped pushing me away. It doesn't make sense. "She knows you'll eventually push he away like everyone else in your life." No, no, no. "And then she'll be where she wants to be. Alone."

Do not punch him. It's not worth it. Relax, Davies. Relax. "I'll never let Spencer be alone." I never have really. Not for two months. And she's never let me be alone. Not really.

"No, Ashley. I'll never let Spencer be alone." You already do a pretty shitty job at it.

None of this matters. "You can't take Spencer away from me."

"Don't you get it?" I don't think you get it. I hope you don't get it. "You never had her." I had her. I had her for at least a night. I had her. And I'll always have that. So no matter what, you're wrong.

"Get out of my fucking house."

"Gladly." He walks by me again and back into the foyer to the door. I'll be happy if I never have to see his face again. But, of course, he turns around and looks at me before he leaves the house. My house. "I did love you once, Ashley." Liar. "I did."

And he leaves without shutting the door but that's fine because I need to slam it. Sadly, his face isn't in the way. They're wrong. They're so wrong. Then why am I crying? Why am I sliding down the door? Why do I feel like I'm never going to be able to stand again? Why?


	31. Back Here

**Back Here.**

I sit next to where she sits cross legged, Blue Eyes on her lap. He's gotten big. He has to be at least six months now. "You always make it a habit to sit on the floor in public?" I must repress the urge to call her a bum. It wouldn't be the best greeting I've ever given, plus, now she has me doing it. Another thing to add to the list of reasons she's terrible for me. In the last month it has accumulated to one hundred and six reasons. Well, if you count all the ones I erased after I wrote them, which would be all of them, so you better count them.

She looks up and shoots a questioning head tilt my way. Yes, shoot. Deadly. "You do know that you are one hundred stories up?"

Thanks. Just thanks for reminding me. When I have a panic attack guess who's carrying me down all those stairs. And I'll give you a hint, it's not Blue Eyes. "Yeah, I know. Thanks." Someone quickly remind me of why I wanted to find her.

She stands, holding Blue Eyes. Focus, Davies, focus. Do not think about strong legs wrapped around you. So inappropriate in front of the kid. At least I am dually reminded. "You do know you're in Chicago in the middle of winter, right?" Or not. Let me check. Frost bit fingers, no feeling in my toes, painfully burning ears, chapped lips, yeah, sadly, I am very aware. Again, thanks.

Save the eye rolls, Davies. Something tells me you'll need an arsenal later. "This is Chicago?" I point to the extensive city view. Ugh, the very far down city view. Okay. Why don't you try being a smartass when you're not on the verge of passing out, Davies? It's much cooler that way. "Glad this isn't spring." Do you ever take my advice? That answer would be no.

She shakes her head but I know she's covering a smile because I can feel it when she smiles which is why I am here, one thousand seven hundred and fifty miles away from the ocean and the sunshine, because I haven't felt that lately and there's only two reasons why and neither are acceptable, not at all. "How did you get up here?"

Ugh, I am so not reliving that travesty. You can get over it. "Don't worry about it." Really, my mind is already suppressing it. It's good with things like that.

Oh, don't give me your knowing, mind reading eyes. Jet lag is not mind reading friendly. Just saying. "How'd you know where I was?"

I enlisted a spy. I wish. Anyways, I used my skills of deceit, or, how I like to look at them, my skills of amazingness, to secure Chelsea's phone number from Kyla. Then, I implemented my skills of annoyance, or, how I like to see them, my gift, and extracted information slowly from the closed mouth friend. I was informed that everyday she comes up here after her doctor's appointment, every day at three o'clock. Yes, I do feel pretty tricky. Thanks. "That's not important." Got to keep them guessing. Rule one in secret agent training, or I'd imagine at least in the top ten.

And when did she get glasses? Did she wear glasses before? No, no, I would have remembered my mind becoming a stumbling fool. Okay, well, I'd remember my mind becoming more of a stumbling fool. It doesn't scar children if you feverishly kiss their parent until the feeling comes back to your lips while they are holding them, does it? Knowing my luck, probably. "Why are you here?"

I really hope she's kidding. Seriously, Spencer? Seriously? "To ask you to go with me to the Grammies?"

You still can't eye roll correctly, Spence. Do yourself a favor and don't attempt. Next time there will be laughter aimed at you. I could do it, you know, if you stopped looking adorable. "You were not." Well, it's kind of cheating when you look me in the eye. Now tell me when you aren't looking in them.

Anyways, like I want the world looking at Spencer Carlin. Spencer Carlin is way too good for the world. Spencer Carlin is way too good for me, but I'm too selfish to care. "Okay, you're right about that." Like everything else.

She places Blue Eyes in a nearby stroller. Just warning you, Spence, he was your best line of defense from my inevitable assault. "That's a lot of stairs to climb for no reason." You had to bring up the demon stairs, didn't you? Why must you always go there? You sadist.

"Yeah, well." Back to this? Really? Progression would be something key in life, Davies. Learn it. "This was a lot of miles." Next time you decide to travel across the country, Davies, let's sit and battle strategize. I think this will be a good course of action.

She looks out the window. "But, it's such a nice view." Yeah, not so great for those of us who can't fly. If we were meant to be this high up whoever is up there would have given us crazily long legs, or something like that.

"Yeah, for someone with a death wish." Or someone who enjoys causing mental terrorism on my insides. All the same thing.

She shrugs. I faint. Or, well, I feel like fainting. It's almost the same thing. What? The air is thin up here and she has nice shoulders. I really can't be blamed. "I just want to see it all." It all? Eighty miles of Midwestern winter is far from it all. Yeah, so I grabbed a brochure. I needed something to read on my way up.

You know you are ignoring something important. Right, Davies? Whatever. "I can see it all from the ground." Not that I want to. Something just aren't worth seeing at all.

She walks closer to the window, pushing the stroller with her. Great. Now she's exposing poor innocent souls to heart attack situations. That kid is going to be one of those kids with the panic attacks and the classroom fainting. "But that takes longer." Jeez. Some people are just so impatient.

And some people are just so stupid. Just saying. "Why Chicago, Spencer?" Seriously, Davies? Seriously? You know exactly why. You know exactly what is going on. You know exactly why you haven't felt her smile in a month. You know. Even if you refuse to know. I just don't know what to do about it. I just don't know what to do.

She turns from the window and looks me in the eye. I don't care why she's doing it, I missed it. It's all those little things that I've been missing, that I've needed. And the way that her eyes open just slightly wider when she's trying to look you in the eye, I missed that. "You know why, Ash." Chicago style pizza? I hear it's delicious.

Whatever. That doesn't matter. "But it's been a month." Technically thirty-eight days, but who's counting? "And I haven't heard from you." Not a call, not a text, not an email. I would have even been okay with a written letter. Even a Dear John. But, no. I had to make sure she was alright from everyone else. Everyone else that pitied me because I am sure they could see the tear stains and the dark circles and the distance because everyone could see it even when it wasn't there.

She turns back to the city. Even if that lake wasn't frozen, from here it wouldn't look like it was moving at all. That's one thing I really hate about heights. It feels like everything stops down below. Things aren't supposed to stop. "I need to take care of some things." Again, seriously? Yeah, okay, Bugs.

She has to know this isn't fair. She has to. She has to know what she's been doing to me. Wasn't that her job once? "Even mobsters have partners." Well, the good ones did. Well, then again they didn't really ever like or trust each other. But, that's not the point, they weren't in it alone.

"Ash…"

Oh jeez. Just stop before you start. I know that look on your face. "Don't Ash me." It never turns out well for me, ever. And I really don't need that right now because the last month hasn't turned out all that well for me at all. "I miss you." I miss counting your smiles from the day before I go to sleep. And I miss lying to myself that I need to wear my shirts just a little longer because it's just a little too cold in my house when really I just want to pretend like your scent is on it. And I miss counting down minutes and seconds and everything until I saw you even though it generally never ended well for me. And I really miss caring if I wake up or not. "I miss you so much." And I can't stand it anymore. I can't come up with reasons not to sleep because I can't face you in my dreams. And I can't avoid places and things and everything and I can't stand being mad at you. I really can't. "And all I do is worry." Because I don't know what you are doing. I don't know where you are. And I am so scared that I won't know if something happens. I'm just always so scared. "Do you know what it's like to fall asleep every night with the same thing on your mind?" No matter how hard you fight it.

"Yeah." She grabs my hand, I hadn't noticed that I was close enough, and pulls me closer to her. "Yeah I do."

Try to remember you're mad and hurt and she has explaining to do, Davies, please. You are losing focus, per usual. It's only a hand. Yeah right, tell that to my rejoicing organs. "But, you did it." She did, right?

She squeezes my hand and pulls me the rest of the way, wrapping her arms around my waist. I'll break you if you don't keep standing, knees, I swear to you. And this is the heat I've been missing, and I think over this month I've figured out what it is, it's that burn when you want someone to be completely inside of you and you know that it's impossible, but it never stops the want. And I'm beginning to think I'm a little more than addicted. "I just don't know what I am doing, Ashley."

So, at least I'm not alone in this. "Me either." I have no idea what you are doing. I have no idea what I am doing. I have no idea what the US economy I doing. I have no idea what Canada is doing in general. I just, I have no idea. But, I'm getting used to it.

She gently backs away but doesn't release my hand. And there are those eyes again. Yeah, you've completely lost at the being upset game, Davies. Congrats, once again. "I was with him for ten years." Oh, right. Him. The rock. He's called me a few times since that day that he showed up mistakenly thinking my house was his. I've had Charles answer each time and hit on him a little. Yeah, I am petty. Too late to change now.

She releases my hand and sits on a nearby bench, pushing Blue Eyes in front us her. The worse is when you know what you have to ask, but it takes so long to say it that it seems so out of the moment. "Are you in love with him?" I sit next to her. What I really wanted to ask was: do you regret what happened?

"I wish I was." What do I say to that? "I wish I still loved him." And her head is in her hands. I remember this position from a month ago. I remember Aiden doing it at my table. But this time I can do something. This time I want to do something. So I wrap my arm around her shoulders and bring her closer to me and she nestles her head onto my shoulder. "Everything would be so much easier." For everyone but me. I think.

She needs you right now, Ashley. Just keep your mouth shut. It's always been the best course of action in the past. "I'm sorry." I'm sorry you're hurting.

She shakes her head and it lightly shakes my shoulder with the dip that was meant for her head to fit. "It happened before you." She sounds so lost and I don't know what to do because she's the one that's supposed to be found. She's supposed to be found and I'm supposed to find her. Wasn't that how it was? "It happened before I want to admit it happened." The life draining feeling of Spencer Carlin crying. The air is already thin up here. I am liable not to survive this.

I reach my free hand and wipe the first signs of tears. This dirty floor really doesn't deserve them. "It's not your fault." Really. It can't be.

"I know, but he's always been so good to me." Good to you? Seriously, Spencer. You're the smart one. Show it sometimes. If he was good to you he'd make you smile. He'd make you smile and happy and he'd be there, because who could willingly leave Spencer Carlin? "He gave me my beautiful boy." I look down to where Blue Eyes is fast asleep. I guess Aiden does some things right, sometimes. "He's always stuck by me." It's not like that's a hard feat. Who couldn't?

We are going for sensitive; remember that before you open your big mouth. "What happened?"

She pushes her head harder into my shoulder, and I wonder if it was voluntary or not and I feel bad, my shoulders are kind of boney but mostly I continue to catch her tears before they fall. "There was just this night, and Aiden was in Chicago, and he called to tell me that he was going to be another week that I realized it didn't matter to me. I didn't get that sinking feeling. I didn't feel anything." And there's something about her words that remind me of someone else's story, but I can't put my finger on it. Or I just don't want to.

"You couldn't help it." Trust me. I've been told so many times by so many of your kind, some things you just can't help. Especially things like this.

She wipes at her own tears and it gets my attention to look down to her eyes which are peering straight at me. Don't read my mind right now, please, because all I am thinking is inappropriate things for the situation and I'm trying so hard to be what you need but all I want to do is kiss you. So, just, please, leave the mind reading be for right now. "I could have helped a lot of things, Ashley." Her eyes are closed now. "That was way before Ian was born." She doesn't sound regretful, just sad, and I continue my previous task of protecting her tears because I storing each of them on my skin.

I watch as he moves a bit in his sleep. I wonder what babies dream about. "I'm glad he was."

"Me too." She nods into me again and I hear her sigh lightly. "I just feel so selfish sometimes for having him." Seriously? This is what you feel selfish for? This?

I feel her tremble against me and the tears begin to challenge my fingers in their downward trails. "You're allowed to be selfish sometimes." It's called being human. I think even super heroes are at least partly human.

"I just want the best for him." What could be better for him than a mother that obviously loves him unconditionally. One that doesn't look down on him. One that looks at him like he's something special. One that he'll talk to more than once a year when he gets older. "Aiden has come to see him the last two weekends." Oh, and him. A father that loves him too. How could that not be the best for him?

Wait, that means that she told Aiden where she was. That means that Aiden saw her. That means that Aiden was close enough to touch her and hear her and just everything. Aiden was. And I wasn't. "How's he?" But, she's crying, and it just doesn't matter right now.

"Devastated." I can't blame him. I really can't. I know the feeling of thinking you'll never be able to touch Spencer Carlin again. I know that feeling and it's a horrible thing. "But, he says he is respecting my decision for now." For now? What does that mean? "I don't think he understands."

The tears have stopped and I almost didn't notice. So, I run my hand through her hair instead. As long as my hand is touching her. That's all I need right now. "Understands what?"

She shift and raises her head off my shoulder so she is looking directly in my eye. You know, if Blue Eyes has these eyes I am going to have to shoot off the girls when he's older. Or boys. Or whatever. Fact of the matter is, he's going to be a little heartbreaker. "That I can't go back to him." She raises her hand and interlaces her fingers with the hand that was perched on her shoulder. "That I found something else." Breathe, Davies. Haven't we worked on this, this last month?

"Have you?"

She nods and then kisses my cheek lightly. Remember that thin air? It's affecting right about now. Not that I am complaining. "I found someone that it matters when they aren't here, someone that I think about, someone that makes me understand everything in their songs." Hey, I write songs.

"Should I be jealous?" Should you just keep your mouth shut? Probably.

But it doesn't matter because I guess she can look over the fact that I talk too much and she can look over a lot of facts. Because she just kissed me for the first time in thirty eight days, just kissed me where everyone can see, and I don't think that the air is an issue anymore because I remember now that my lungs haven't been mine in a long time and I'm beginning to realize hers might not be hers either and breathing just isn't a problem. "And I think of kissing her every time I see her." She pulls back a little but still doesn't release my hand and my hand never leaves her hair.

"So I should be really jealous. That's what you're telling me?" Get that grin off your face, Davies. It's just hard when she's around. And she just doesn't seem to mind, she really just doesn't mind me at all.

"I love you, you dork." Wait, wait, I think we covered that Ashley Davie is not a dork like two months ago. Actually, this was another time that you figured something out, Davies, but was too dumbfounded to say it out loud. Right, right.

And that's not really the issue right now. "And I love you, even though you're annoying."

She giggles and I smile because I can't help myself. "I was scared that you didn't find me annoying anymore."

"Don't have to worry about that ever happening." She pushes me playfully and stands, hands still links, pulling me with her. "Does this mean you're my shrink again?"

She shakes her head but squeezes my hand harder. "I can't go back to work yet, Ash. I'm here for a reason."

I nod because I have to understand and this just isn't the place to talk about things like that. Those kinds of things need to be spoken about in places where no one can see. "It's just weird talking to your dad about how a girl has my heart without thanking him for having you." It's true. I have been alternating between yelling at him and hugging him for the existence of the beautiful blond in front of me.

"I bet he's loving that." She laughs as she begins to push the stroller towards the elevator. "Aren't you coming?" Is she kidding? She pulls my hand. Seriously. I am not moving. "Come on, Ash. I'll protect you."

"Will you cover my eyes?" She laughs. I roll my eyes. "You're so annoying."

"Yes, I will cover your eyes." She kisses my cheek when I walk up next to her.

"Will you hold my hand?"

"I wouldn't dream of not." She squeezes my hand as she rolls the stroller in front of us our linked hands pushing the stroller as we walk

"You coming back with us?" I nod. It doesn't matter where we are going as long as she's leading.

Because for the first time in a month, or maybe the first time ever, I feel like I am going home. Going home to a place I don't know where it is, a place I know will lead to conversations I don't want to have, and things I may not want to feel, but all that matters is that she isn't letting go of my hand and with her other hand she covers my eyes, giggling in my ear, as the elevator descends to the bottom floor. And I barely feel the falling at all.


	32. How to Start a Fire

**How to Start a Fire**.

She opens the door to the apartment on the third floor of a yellow brick building that a taxi dropped us off in front of. "This is it." I follow her in, carrying the folded up stroller, as she balances Blue Eyes on her hip, turning on the light.

Furnished? Doesn't that seem a little permanent? It's been like a month. What happened to living out of boxes, or something? Why can't she ever be normal? Whatever. "It's nice." Breath, Davies, you're going to noticeably panic in a second. I set the stroller down next to the door.

She turns toward me. Oh, don't give me the head tilt; I was being polite, not lying, total difference. "It's just a six month lease." It's obvious she just used this month to hone in on her skills. It is what they do and all. "I just wanted something homey for Ian." Homey? Nothing is homey about permafrost, just saying.

And what is this? I can see the kitchen down the one hallway. That has to be some kind of faux pas. "I could get you something bigger." In Los Angeles.

She laughs. One day, someone will tell me what's so funny when I'm being nice. "I could get myself something bigger too." That's right. Shrinks probably get paid a lot in LA. Everyone wants one. They're like the new age convertible. "I'm going to put this champ to bed. Make yourself comfortable." I watch as she carries Blue Eyes into a room down the tiny hallway. We're over a thousand miles away from comfortable. Thank you.

I skim over the room. She must have gone to a flea market or whatever it is that they have in Illinois. Really? That couch? Hank would be so disappointed in her. Who does brown nowadays, anyways? And that TV? What if Blue Eyes wanted to watch a movie that required long angles, or something? He'd have to settle for only thirty-four inches. Way to make your kid settle, Spence. At least she got a fireplace; you'd need it in this hell. I now understand why the inner circles of hell are freezing. No one is meant to be negative two degrees.

Pictures on the mantle above the fireplace catch my eyes. She's a picture person. I'll never understand it. Don't super geniuses have super memories? Spencer, Chelsea and the banshee. Good job, minion, you stand in-between them, I hope you did hand checks as well. Spencer, holding Blue Eyes, and Aiden. Really? No wonder this apartment has some eerie vibes, and not just because it's in the old Italian part of Chicago, she has all types of evil and creepy radiating in this room. This must be her family. Patriarch, the brick, Spencer, a tall black boy and a fair skinned blonde woman. Everyone looks so young. Everyone looks so happy. The last picture is just Spencer and the blond woman, smiling with their arms around each other. It's obviously her mother. I pick it up to get a better look at it. Just as I thought, they have the same smile. I have an overwhelming want to thank a woman I'll never be able to meet.

But it is gone when a hand on my shoulder causes me to turn. "That's my mom." She is baby free and jacket free and I suddenly notice how warm it is in here.

She meets my eyes and suddenly something about the picture unnerves me and I nearly drop it. "You look a lot like her." You look entirely too much like her. Where is that evil patriarch resemblance now? Everything is always gone when I need it.

"I know I look like my mom." I see it every time I look in the mirror. "I look nothing like my dad." I never really had to. There was always something more there.

She takes the picture from me, like she knows how heavy it has become for me, and I wouldn't doubt that scenario at all. "Well, I think you look like Ashley Davies." And I think I look like an Ashley Davies that is going to die of a heat stroke. And people generally laugh at people who die of heat strokes in January in Chicago.

I smile because that was something that everyone needs to hear, at least once. "Really, I get that a lot." And I take off my jacket discarding it on the couch. What? It's not like this place has a coat closet or something.

I watch as she places the picture back in its place on the mantel. "It's hard to look at it sometimes." Well, the obvious answer to this conundrum would be not to have it out for everyone and their mom to see.

I'd contemplate her perceived aptitude but I notice her eyes drift to the picture beside it, the one of the happy, young family. "You're stronger than I am." I nod my head in response to her head shake. I'm pretty sure it was a compliment. I think it's rude to refuse those. "I destroyed every picture of my dad that I had." In a giant, illegal bon fire of mythic proportions. Liz suggested we use them as rolling paper. Not only was that a bad suggestion, but I think he'd like that a little too much.

"People deal with grief in their own way." True. Some use it to explain horrible acts of murder and destruction. Just because they deal with it different ways doesn't mean they are right, Yoda. "Sometimes I think I'm weak for keeping them." She turns away from the mantel and looks down at the floor. Don't do that, why do you have to do that?

I touch her arm lightly. "I never think you're weak." It's true.

She shakes her head, of course, sadly. Because I can't seem to win tonight. "You want anything to eat or drink?" Ugh. Please don't ask questions that have perverted answers to it. This just doesn't feel like the right time.

Just, ignore it, Davies. "No, I'm alright."

She walks by me and sits on the couch, opposite my discarded jacket. And I follow her because, seriously, what else do I do? Stupid flea market couch, you're not supposed to be comfortable. I hate you even more now. Nothing here is supposed to be comfortable. "I'm so exhausted."

Yeah, I know the feeling. "You can nap if you want." I can't promise we'll still be in Chicago when you wake up, but whatever. I have connections. "I'll be here when you wake up." I always am.

She shakes her head and lays it on my shoulder. "Not yet." She intertwines our hands together and sighs. "Not yet."

Well, if you are going to close your eyes and lay down there really is only one more step. "Are you okay?" I wrap my arms around her and pull her closer. It's getting colder in here. I'm sure of it.

She nods into me. "It's just hard to think about high school." At least you can think about it. Who knows what happened back then. The "dark ages" as I'd like to call them. "So much happened."

I kiss the top of her head. "I wish I was there in high school." I wish I had those ten years that Aiden was talking about that one time that time I'm trying to forget.

She shifts so that we are closer but her eyes are on mine. "I was working at a music store after practice every night." Work? Why?

"Which one?" I absentmindedly run my hands through a loose lock of her hair.

"Randy's." Hey, that was by the school. I use to go there a lot. What? They sold vinyl. What's cooler than that? "This girl would come in around eight o'clock, while I was stocking the shelves, with a guitar and go straight to recording booth two." Hey, I used to go in a lot at eight. Liz had a designated curfew that she followed sometimes and my mom had a designated doors unlocked time, and they never wanted to coincide with each other. "She'd leave when we closed at ten." Ugh, the manager would always knock on the booth, ten minutes before close, really loud and ruin my concentration. So unprofessional. "But every time she'd leave the tape behind, so I kept them and listened to them." Wait. Kept them? Listened to them? "I know I should gave asked but I don't know what I would have done if you had said no."

But. "Why?" I'm just not understanding.

She shifts uncomfortably in my arms. "Your songs were worth hearing." But those songs are supposed to be long gone. Very long gone.

"I thought they were just trashed."

She shakes her head and shifts again. "I kept them." You said that. "I still have them." Wait, now? They still exist right now? "Please don't be mad." She sounds worried and she looks into my eyes.

Like I even have a chance. I want to play a game I have a chance of winning at. Just once. Just saying. "I just wish I would have seen you then." And I'm learning that more and more everyday and it hurts a little when the past is what you want to change but it's the only thing you can't.

She sighs and digs herself deeper into my shoulder. "Didn't you say that you couldn't have?" Yes, well, I've said a lot of things. Your point?

"I was an idiot." I'm not quite sure which time I'm talking about but either way it works.

Of course you laugh at that. Finding amusement through my ignorance isn't the nicest things in the world. "You were human." That's a lot nicer than what some people say I was. "Plus you're cuter now." Really? Because I think in the last couple of months I've been developing this worry line on the left of my forehead. And really it wouldn't so bad if it was in the middle or something, but I really like symmetry. Of course my lines have to be against me.

But, I guess it doesn't matter. "You think I'm cute?"

"I think you're a lot of things." I'd sure enjoy an alphabetized list of these things.

But again, not the time. Why is it never the time? It's becoming disheartening. "Why are you here, Spencer?" She looks at me quizzically. Seriously? Don't play that. You know exactly what I mean. "There are doctors in LA." Yeah, there are all types of doctors in LA. Rephrase that. "Good doctors." I have a list of them. A long, comprehensive list. I did it all by myself too. I didn't even let Charles help. "And your family is there." I'm there.

"Dr. Jones treated my mom."Oh great. That does absolutely nothing to calm my nerves. Actually, quite the opposite. "She trusted him with her life." Yeah, well, there was a point in my life that I would trust Santa Claus with my life. Doesn't mean either of us was right. "It makes me feel closer to her." Couldn't you revert back to the preteen 'I just want to be left alone' stage? Just for a little bit. I'm sure yours didn't last long enough anyways. Personally. I'm still in it. "I really need her right now." But, don't you get it? It's past need for me. I live for this all to be better.

"But, aren't there better doctors, Spence?"

"Not for me." Of course not. "He's an amazing doctor." Oh yeah, he's sure proven that, right? "You can't save everyone." And you are entirely too forgiving.

Plus, I don't care about everyone; I care about you. But, this is just all really fruitless. "I'm not going to change your mind, am I?"

She shakes her head. Yeah, figures. "I just want you happy." And very, very healthy. I don't think I'm asking for all that much.

She kisses me softly. Ugh, you're so evil. I don't want to smile right now. "Well, it just so happens that I am more than happy right now." Again, you so know what I meant.

Just leave it, Davies. "Oh yeah? Why's that?"

"Hitchcock movie marathon tomorrow night." She would like Hitchcock, wouldn't she?

"Hitchcock is one lucky man to have your attention." I'm more of a color person myself.

"You know who else is lucky?"

Oprah? Seriously, what does that woman do to get all that money? Or, perhaps, the one with the beautiful blond in her arms? "Who?"

"Me." And she kisses me again, a little longer, a little more heart stopping. "It's not every day rock stars scale the John Hancock for someone." Why must you bring back the haunting memories? And to think, some people do that for fun. Someone needs to buy them a stair master or something.

"Spence?" Don't do it, Davies.

"Ash?"

I place my hand over her heart. "How is everything?" Okay, you so did it. Oh, and I so know that face. "Don't you dare say fine." And that's what we call a shut down people, as she shakes her head, I so called it.

"I've been better." Of course. One vague answer to the next. Of course.

This is like pulling teeth. And not those weak ones in the front, but the hard ones in the back. Not that I know much about that sort of thing. "What does that entail?"

"I've just been tired, Ashley." For some reason I think it may be more than that. Tired is what you are after a night of bingeing and some idiot plays Sting at five in the morning. This seems like more than that.

Whatever. She may just be tired, but I am more than that. I've been tired before. I've been exhausted before. This isn't it. "After the movie is done filming, I'm moving the studio out here, I can finish the album here." At least they make heated sweaters now. I can just buy three of those and wear all three and I should survive. At least for awhile. "I'll be here for you." Because right now it's the only place I can imagine being. I can't think of the sun or the water or anywhere else except this small apartment with the too comfortable couch.

She remains silent for a minute. "How's the movie."

"Everything just goes so quickly but so slowly."

"Do you like it?"

"I don't think so."

"Yeah, I wouldn't either."

"Are you changing the subject?"

"Actually, not at all." Why am I always lost? "I'm getting tired, Ash."

She stands but she reaches her hand out to me and I take it, allowing her to pull me up. She turns her back on me but makes no move to untwine our hands as she starts her approach to the hallways that I'm sure her bedroom is in. "I can sleep on the couch." Wait, what? Are you joking, Davies? First of all, you've never slept on anything smaller than a queen; you'd fall on your face. Secondly. Really? Spencer Carlin sleeping within feet of you. Do you know how dangerous couch sleeping would be to your health?

It doesn't matter though because she makes no inclination that she's heard me at all, and I'm glad for that, so glad, because jet lagged legs and heavy eyelids have never felt so feather light than when they are being led by girls whose hands scream forever promises with each gentle squeeze and each easy touch.

The door is opened, the door is closed, and I am being pressed against it before I can process, before I can untangle my mind from those promises, from sunset nights over the ocean yet to come, and bring myself into the present. But, her lips on mine could bring me from any moment because it's times like these that other moments cease to exist at all, it's times like these that forever can wait. Everything can wait.

She kisses more forceful than I remember but I really don't mind because all my memories had turned soft anyways and I feel like being bruised. I feel like feeling it. So, I push back hard, but not too hard because I'm still in the process of memorizing, still in the process of learning how to live this moment over and over because I'll never be through with it, it will just never be enough. And all these moments keep adding up on me, the ones I can't forget it. And I am beginning to realize what drowning in your own mind feels like. But I don't mind.

Our hands are no longer linked but I don't mind at all because her hands are on me and it feels like they are everywhere all at once because every graze, every stroke, every scratch feels as if its occurring on the inside. And, I can't take the need to be closer so I pull at her shirt and she releases me to raise her arms and I never knew seconds could be so long and I never knew that I'd miss an image so much.

But, I have to stop because something is so wrong. I catch her arms before they come back down and I see it in her eye that she knows what it is. I see them plead with me to leave it, not to ask, but I have to because black and blue replaces so much skin that should be pale and white and beautiful.

I run my finger lightly over the largest on her right arm and she doesn't flinch, not at all, standing so close to me. One arm being held the other being examined, she looks me straight in the eyes. "What happened, Spencer?"

Her eyes don't leave mine but I'm finding it more and more difficult to keep eye contact. I have to for her. "It's from the treatment." What kind of treatment would do something like this to someone like you? Who would let something like his happen to you? I just don't understand. "It makes your body weaker." But, you don't look weaker; you don't feel weaker; you don't sound weaker.

But, these marks look weak; they look so dark and foreboding against her pale complexion. "Does it hurt?" I take my fingers off them completely and cup her face with both hands.

She shakes her head, but I know there's more there because lately I've been reading things in her eyes and I think I'm seeing what it's like to know someone else's thoughts and I think she realizes it as well. "Sometimes."

Sometimes. Sometimes could be anytime. Sometimes is far from a word like rarely or occasionally. "Maybe we shouldn't do this."

She takes my hands from her face and grasps them firmly in her hands. "Ashley."

"Yeah?"

"I'm not going to break." But what if you do? What if it is my fault? What if.

"I know that, it's just –"

But, I don't get to finish my thought because it died when she let go of my hands and unclasped her bra, letting it fall to the floor. She pushes me lightly and I am dumbfounded. "Just shut up."

I want to argue; I want to make my point; I want to protect her, even from me, but she is pulling me by the arms and pleading with her eyes to follow and I'm losing all that resolve because she has stopped at the edge of her bed and has craftily pulled my shirt over my head before I am even conscious of the moment.

Her hands are roaming over my stomach as I stand in front of her. I want to touch her; I want to wrap the air she breathes inside of me so I know for sure it'll never escape, that it will always be there for her; I want to let go, but I can't. I just can't.

"Ashley, it's okay." She tries to find my eyes but I stare down at her hands which lay lazily on my lower stomach. She gets closer and, as I close my eyes, I feel her lips near my ear. "Trust me." And there go her pants. Of course. Of course she would take her pants off at a time like this. And I feel her pulling my arms again and I know she's on the bed now and I do trust her and I have to because my resolve is completely gone now as she pulls me down on top of her, our lips meeting.

I roll so we are side by side, never leaving her mouth with mine, because it's gone too far now. I'm too far now because I'm always teetering at the edge when it comes to her and when she's pushing against me, arms around me, releasing my bra, I'm no longer teetering by falling fast. Maybe I am falling too fast because it takes entirely too long for my arms to pull her closer, because I need her closer, that she's already pushing to explore exposed skin with hot lips and I wonder how they got so hot because I feel my hands warming the rest of her as they purposely trail over every inch of her that I can reach and I think every inch of her that I can't.

I suppress no moans when her mouth covers my breast and I feel her teasing tongue because I have been suppressing far too long. And I reach out to massage hers with my skilled hands that suddenly feel all too novice because I don't know what to expect, if it will hurt, so I brush my thumb gently over her right nipple and arch up to kiss her neck.

And we shift and I feel two legs straddling my torso. "I'm going to start to think you like straddling me." She grins and I feel the mounting pressure double and I wonder how it is that a smile does more to me than a hundred hands I just don't recall.

"Well, you'd be right on that." And I can't take it anymore. I need to feel her because I can feel that she needs it just as much and another smile may kill me. But she grabs my hand mid descent and interlocks our fingers haphazardly, being them to her lips and kissing them slowly.

She bends towards me and replaces my hand with my lips and I feel her other hand drawing circles deeply inside of my thighs. As her lips leave mine and find their way down my chest and my breasts, my arms wrap around her back, scratching lightly. And I feel her unbutton my jeans and I quickly assist her hand, kicking the pants off. Who needs pants anyways?

The heat is at my stomach now, sucking at my skin, or I think so. At this point, particulars are lost to me. But I do notice when it all stops and she looks up at me with her twilight blue eyes and I'm so tempted to pull her up and hold onto her as tight as I can, pull her into me what I know I can keep her safe, but I don't because the hand that has thoroughly scorched my thigh is moving leisurely to other places that have already built their own heat. "I've never done this before, Ashley."

Never? Really? But. Actually, no, I'm not going to think about it right now. It's not important, and not just because her fingers are slowly parting me and not just because her eyes are still staring into me but because really it's only been us to matter at all. "You're doing fine," I somehow find my voice. And she smiles the smile and her lips are back on me, pressing fire into my skin with her tongue.

And I feel her getting lower and lower and her mouth takes the place that her hand once was but is now drawing lazy circles over me cause me to raise my hips in protest. I need to feel her stronger; I need her; I need her in so many ways. And I know she knows it; I know I can feel her smile as she kissers closer and closers because I can just feel things like that. And she carefully removes what's left of her barriers. And I know she's such a tease, and that's annoying.

But not really at all. Not at all because the wet of her tongue is mingling with me now and I think I just died or hundred of memories just died to give ample room to this one because that has never felt so good or right before.

I'm trying hard to keep my eyes open to memorize every piece but it's becoming more and more difficult with each of her movements and completely impossible when I feel her fingers carefully fill me, moving in motion with her tongue. And I can't stop my hips form rising a bit to meet her. And thought is failing me because everything just feels so good.

And I feel her free hand interlace with my left hand; although, I have no idea what it was doing previously. And I know I'm squeezing her hand forcefully as it all mounts up and up but she doesn't seem to care as she moves faster and faster or it all just feels faster and faster, I can't tell, nor do I care.

I'm sure I say her name when the first wave hits, but after that I'm lost. So lost, but I don't care because she's still holding my hand and I'm still here, in this perfect bed with surrounded by these perfect moments, occurring and in my mind, but my head feels so far away, perhaps in sunset nights over the ocean yet to come.

And I feel her pull away, and I miss the closeness already, as she kisses up my body to snuggle into my side, fitting flawlessly. "Was I okay?"

Okay? Understatement. "You were beautiful." Does that make sense? It has to. It's the only word I could think of. But it must because I feel her smile against me and kiss my neck lightly.

"Ash?"

"Yeah, Spence?"

"Can we sleep now?"

We can do whatever you want to do. "Of course."

"Ash?"

"Yeah, Spence?"

"I'm glad you came here."

"I am too.

"Ash?"

"I love you too, Spence." She laughs lightly and pulls me closer, if possible. "Get some sleep, okay?" She nods against me and leaves one more kiss on my neck.

But I don't let the waves of exhaustion and the still present blissful throb loll me to sleep like it does her. I can't. So I wait until her grip on me lessens and her breathing quiets next to my ear and I carefully remove her arms from around me, reminding myself of the necessity as the cold quickly hits me. Kneeling by the side of the bed, I find her jeans and the cell phone she always keeps in the front right pocket and I copy a number into my own phone, which I recover from my own jeans, the number of a man who has the life of a girl, who has my heart, in his hands.

I climb back onto the bed and she instantly moves into me. Sleepily blinking her eyes as she rests her head on my chest. "Where'd you go?"

I kiss her forehead and lay my head on top of hers. "Somewhere far less important than this." In her sleeping state it seems like the evasive answer appeases her. And you thought you never win, Davies.

She yawns. "You'll always come back, right?"

"I'll never leave to come back."

And with whispered I love yous we fall together into something more for the first time in over a moth. And it's something gorgeous not to reach out to nothing and it's something amazing to know that you don't need dreams at all because your dreams are laying with you in a bed, breathing promises onto your now beating chest.


	33. Sunsets and Car Crashes

**Sunsets and Car Crashes. **

Loud shrill ringing. Really? Seriously? But I was just getting to the good part. You know the part with the teeth, and the, you know what, never mind. I reach for my phone and of course, to make this morning even better, head meet floor. Who stole my side table? I had important things in there. Things I'm not mentioning. Green comforter? This is so not my bed. And this is so not my room. Which means, that dream, the one with a perfect fit, and the one with the forever promises, that means that wasn't a dream at all. I should have known anyways, my dreams never include snow, and that is definitely snow out that window. Oh, right, the phone.

Phone. Phone. Right, pants pocket. And usually two pairs of jeans on the floor is a good thing. I find my pair and check the caller ID. Ugh, Charles. This. Is going to be a painful conversation. Painful to my sanity. I press the green button. "This best be important."

"Chicago, Ashley?" Who tattled? I feel like a two year old with their hand in the cookie jar. A pretty, soft, blonde cookie jar, but still a cookie jar. Wait, that's kind of dirty, isn't it?

Wait, this, not important. "Not important." Because, really, it's not. Lately, I've been figuring out what the important things are and none of them include locations or times.

"Did you even think to tell someone where you were going?" Remember when I said I felt like a two year old? These are the moments why. Last time I checked, two year olds don't have breasts like these. Just saying.

Plus, I told Freddy. Freddy counts. You didn't mention responsible, mature or important in your question. "You know what, you should thank me." Wait, wait, I have some good logic. "I saved you a lot of time. You would have tried to stop me, and I wouldn't have been stopped." See, I was saving you a whole bunch of wasted time. You just don't get back time in life. I'm really like a hero, or something.

And don't huff at me. The correct wording here is, 'thank you, Ashley, for being so gracious.' I'll even do without the last bit. "Do you know where I am right now?"

Do I want to know where you are right now? "I bet you are going to tell me." Why do people only ask this question when the other person has no idea. It's like a blind man playing poker, or something.

"I'm at O'Hare." Because I've obviously been without a babysitter way too long. "Freezing my ass off." Now, this seems like a very unfortunate position for a gay man to be in. "Do you want to know how I knew you were in Chicago?" My attempt at amazing stealth failed miserably? Isn't that all I need to know?

But, if I never know, then how will I improve? Maybe I've been watching too much Oprah lately. Maybe. Okay, I give in. "How?"

"Pictures of you and an anonymous blond at the John Hancock building, that's how." I really hope they at least got my good side. Wait, not the important issue here. They got a picture of Spencer. Ugh. "I only 

need one guess to guess who the random blond is." Do you think with any luck he'll guess Madonna? Yeah, me neither.

"It's not like I drew attention to myself." First time for everything. I think this deserves a consolation prize. I'm thinking at least one of those cute little teddy bears that will surely fall apart in a week or so.

"You're Ashley Davies; you are a walking talking billboard for attention."Bingo. Someone gets it. Wait, does this mean I don't get the prize? Wait, wait, where is my prize anyway? Her pants are still here; therefore, she must be too, right? Things don't work that way, do they? Why do people have to have multiple pairs of pants? I feel it would be easier to keep track of them if there was only one.

Oh, right, he's still on the phone. "So, now you are coming to babysit me?" You know that feeling when you just want to hang up on someone, but not in a rude way, in a, if you were here right now I'd be bored with the conversation and walk away, kind of way. This is one of those moments.

"If that translates to make sure you don't do something dumb." He's using he exasperated voice. I am a acquaintance of the exasperated voice. I would say friend, but something tells me it doesn't like me very much.

"Oh, you just miss me." How can't he? I'm like his only friend. Plus, he loves cleaning up after me, it's his job. And don't they say you should do what you love. And in my head, this logic made sense.

"You wish…" There's more to that tirade, but I am missing it because my sunlight just walked in, and I needed that because it's snowing outside, and I was beginning to get a bit cold even if the air in here is warm even if I am wrapped in a green comforter that seemed way too small last night but way too big this morning. I needed this because leaning against the door, giggling at me, on the floor wrapped in a queen size blanket, is what is important. Much more important than times or places or phone calls.

"Oh good you're up." And, seemingly late to the party. She is fully clothed and wearing that smile that I'll never forget from the night before. "And look, only ten." Ten o'clock, in the morning?

"Charles, got to go." I close the phone and throw it onto the bed. Did I mention how unimportant phone calls are when the only person worth talking to is walking towards you when you're naked under a blanket on the floor? Okay, maybe I didn't get that specific. "How long have you been up?" I stand. That's right, I am naked, you know what this means? You should be too. And I wrap my arms around her. "You should have woke me."

She shakes her head and lays it against my shoulder. Her hot breath hitting my neck. "I do recall someone telling me never before eleven."

I do recall someone only listening to me when it suits them. And if this is what begins before eleven, screw eleven. "There are exceptions to every rule."



She chuckles and releases me, grabbing my jeans and throwing them at me. Hey, if my cell phone was still in those, that would have been a hazard. I think to make up for it, I need your breath back on my neck. "And they are?" They are what?

Oh. Right. "When being awake is much better than my dreams." I wonder if Hallmark has an opening for cliché, romance card writer. Because at this rate my job as badass, rock star. Gone.

"You have been writing far too many love songs lately." You're telling me and you haven't even heard them. Freddy has banned the word heart from anything I write. Punishable by sappy love movies. You know how I hate those. He secretly loves them.

I just can't help it though. It happens. "I've been inspired."

"Yeah? Me too." For some reason. I can't exactly see you with a guitar. Okay, I lie, because, the image of you and my guitar and the whole, no clothes thing, yeah, still burned in my head, but I meant playing the guitar.

"Oh yeah?" Maybe the recorder or something? You know. You never see a band with a good recorder player. I think it could bring something to the table.

She throws my shirt in my direction. I don't really know where you are going with this clothes thing, Spence. I think I have the right idea, not you. "Yes, to make breakfast." Yeah? This completely works for me.

There's only one word that could make that sentence better. "Delicious breakfast?"

"Oh, you know, if you like gruel." Wait, is it flavored gruel? I could go for it.

"My favorite." But, only if you made it. Ugh, really, Davies?

She points to the clothes. Yes? "Well, come on then." I think we could do all this naked. What else are blinds for? Blinds are for naked breakfast eating, that's what they are for. And you have them for a reason.

Plus, I hear breakfasts have long, long staying power. And what are microwaves for? Have you even tested your microwave yet? I mean properly. I think the best thing to do is let the breakfast get cold. "Can't we just stay in here a little longer?"

"Nope, plus I have to save my kitchen from a rambunctious one year old." Oh, right, Blue Eyes. Is naked breakfast eating bad for babies? I guess I'll get dressed until I can consult Freud on such matters. She throws me some underwear from a drawer in her dresser and kisses me before she turns towards the door. "I'll see you in a minute."

And she's gone. Way to cruelly motivate me to hurry. I throw the clothes on in record time and make my way to the kitchen. Not that it was a hard trek. One, two, yeah, maybe fourteen steps to the table. Blue 

Eyes has a bowl of some kind of mess in front of him on his highchair table. So she really fed you gruel, huh? Lucky you. At least you look like you're enjoying playing in it. "He's making a mess."

She puts two plates on the table. Chocolate chip pancakes. And if there was any doubt I loved this girl, completely gone. Seriously. Where do you get chocolate chip pancakes anymore? And have they decreased in their deliciousness since you were a kid? Nope. The answer is just no. If anything, increased. "I already tried to feed him, but he seems more interested in trying to feed himself." Stubborn? I wonder where he got that from.

"This looks delicious." Can we say one track mind, Davies. I grab the fork and knife and dig in. Who needs syrup? Wait, wait is that whipped cream? I just died and went to heaven. I think you need to calm down, Davies, do I have to remind you that stressed is desserts spelled backwards, and this is a dessert if there ever was one.

She smiles and sits down opposite of me. "Yeah, my dad makes them a lot." All your dad makes me is headaches. How is this fair?

Delicious. Just, delicious. "You're going to spoil me." Not that I'm complaining.

She takes a bite. "Oh, you are already spoiled." She tilts her head and coyly smiles at me. Have I mentioned lately that I like coy a little? "Though I suppose I shouldn't help bad behaviors."

What? Sorry. All I heard was 'help bad behavior'. "Bad behavior, huh?"

She throws a small piece of pancake at me. "We are not going back to bed, Ashley." What? Am I that transparent?

Plus. "Who said anything about a bed?" I add an eyebrow raise for emphasis.

"You're impossible." No, no, I think that is you, and I called it a long time ago, so there.

"You love it." She grins. I grin back.

"You keep telling yourself that." I will, thanks.

She reaches over and wipes Ian's mouth. "Should I be scared of what you're going to teach him?" Only if lady killers scare you. Actually, thinking about it, the term sounds kind of scary.

And I, I am a pancake killer, because it's all gone. I wonder if there is more. However, the doorbell ringing halts those thoughts. She looks up toward the direction of the door. Must not be expecting anybody. Which means only one thing. "It's for me." Charles has much better secret agent skills than I have. I'd question him on where he learned them, if I didn't know all I'd get was an eye roll. A copyrighted eye roll.

I open the door, and there he is. See, told you. "Ashley." He looks cold. At least four layers on, with snowflakes still in his hair.



"How'd you find it?" Because I know for a fact I didn't tell him the address, or anything, because I have no idea.

He shakes his head and walks past me, into the apartment. "Wasn't hard." You know what; ambiguity only looks good on me. Someone should tell him so. "But I have been calling you for the last hour." Deadly eyes. Look, the cell phone didn't want to get out of bed. True story. Just go look.

"Charles , do you want anything to eat?" She calls from the kitchen. Hey, don't offer people, who are trying to kill me with their eyes, food. You'll boost up their power, and eventually it won't just be with their eyes.

He walks past me again and down the hallway into the kitchen. I follow after him. I am not a door. I'm a wall with access when I allow. Oh, like a wall with a secret passage. Right. None of this walking past stuff. "No thank you, Ms. Carlin. I'm sorry for intruding on your home like this." Oh, look at all those formalities. He's getting at something, isn't he?

She smiles and picks up the dishes, setting them into the sink. "Oh, you're never intruding, we were just finishing breakfast." Okay, never intruding? I can think of a few times he'd be really intruding. You are just too welcoming.

Charles nods and stares at me. He really has a problem with this today. I wonder if it's some type of nervous twitch. "Ashley jut failed to mention where she was going, and I worried." Worried? Is worried the right word? Protecting an investment? Something. And, hey, that's none of her business anyways.

She looks between the two of us. "Well, this little guy needs to be cleaned up." Aw, he really liked that baby food. You know someone likes something when eating isn't enough; they want their pours to also get a piece of the action. I learned this in France.

I watch as she carries Blue Eyes into the washroom. Perfect opportunity to implement 'Operation Chocolate Sauce'. What? I think this name not only screams stealth, it also screams awesome. Much like myself. "Charles."

"Yeah?" He looks up from his blackberry that he was playing with.

Okay, brace self for this conversation. Remember. He still calls his mom to get her approval on his Christmas cards and still secretly talks to himself in third person when he thinks no one is looking. He can't harm you. Too much. "Call this number and get me in to see this doctor today." I take his cell phone and punch in the numbers that I burned into my head the night before.

He looks from me to the phone skeptically. "Are you sick?" Are you dumb?

Do I look sick? Eye roll placement necessary. "No, it's Spencer's doctor." Oh, the eyes have turned to ninja stars of death, yes, that sharp, and that deadly.

"Have you completely lost it?" Yes, but that's not really the point here.



"No." What? I need to make a convincing argument, admitting insanity by love does nothing for rational argument.

"It's against the law for him to tell you anything." Um, didn't a popular punk song tell one to fight the law? Or, we could go with the popular saying, laws are meant to be broken. Either way, I win here. "You do know this, right?"

"Just do it, Charlie." And when did I become a Nike commercial?

"I'm starting to really worry, Ash." I don't recall worrying being part of your job description. Stick to the script. I do what I want, when I want, and then you clean up if needed. And this won't need it. It just won't. "You shouldn't be seeing her like this." Like what? Clothed? I agree. "It's just not ethical of her." Wait, don't imply things about Spencer. Okay. Just don't.

You know what? I don't have to explain any of this to you. It's just not worth it. "Mind your own business."

"You are my business." Okay, this is semi-true. I completely meant metaphorically though. Obviously.

"Just do this for me." And really, if you don't, I'll just do it myself. So, at least this way, you'll feel included. Remember how annoyed you were last time I didn't include you. "Please."

He stares down at the phone and then back at me. "Not happily." Yeah, I caught onto that, promise.

"I'll owe you." Or something.

"You always owe me." And this is obviously why I pay you weekly paychecks. So I feel that we are even or something like that.

I have a witty retort I do. Something about my modes of payment being too much for him, but Spencer decides to walk into the room with Blue Eyes, and that's just not something for the kid's ears. "What are you two doing in here?"

Charles stares blankly in their direction. It's never a good thing when he stares blankly. Or is it just like most things he does, just never good for me? I'll have to think on this one. "You have a beautiful son." Well, at least he has something right today.

And look, he made her smile. He sure knows how to get back in my good graces. "Why, thank you."

He turns around and points the hallway. "I have to go make a call." And he's gone. I think he's a bit moody today. It must be the jetlag.

"Is he okay?" I don't think he's been okay since he found out that glitter went out of style with the bedazzler, and it just was never okay for boys to begin with.



She doesn't need to have these images in her head. "He's fine." He'll sulk. Play some Tetris on his phone. All will be good. "I have to run some errands today." Don't look her in the eye. It's not lying if it's omitting. Keep telling yourself that, Davies.

"When do you have to be back in LA?" She must have turned her mindreading off for the day. Good thing for me.

Wait, wait. Why does this make me feel worse? Ugh, where did my spine go? "Not for another two days."

"Dinner tonight?" Dinner? Maybe she knows and she's emotionally blackmailing the truth out of me slowly and effectively. I will not give in, I will not.

"I wouldn't miss it for the world." Or that smile. Or, any of this, but that's not the point "What are you doing today?"

"Just going to rest." I like this idea. "I don't have an appointment today." I guess I don't have the chance to practice my stealth skills then. Probably a good thing.

"Good, you need it." Ugh, stick your foot in your mouth, Davies.

"What's that supposed to mean?" It means that bruises and appointments make me worry more than I think I can physically handle and when you are resting the pressure in my head is just a little less. The pressure of all the images of things that could go wrong.

But, I can't say that to you, because I am trying my hardest to be my strongest. "I'm just saying, if I'm going to be seen in public with you…"

"You should only be so lucky, Ms. Davies." She shoves me playfully. I don't think I could be anymore lucky, Ms. Carlin, but if I was getting more lucky, it would have nothing to do with public. Well, unless, okay, done. "Dinner will be served here."

Here? "And who's cooking?"

"You're looking at her." Yes! I have never lost yet with a Carlin dinner. Wait, okay, mentally I have, but my stomach has yet to lose.

Don't look too excited, Davies. You'd make a terrible card player at this point. "Should I worry?"

"Only if good food scares you." Food that moves scares me. Or food that looks like it could move. Or food that has moved in the last hour. And really, I think that's about it. Otherwise, bring on the food.

"Good is so subjective." I remember this from English class. For example, some people consider Shakespeare good. Some people also think he's romantic, but that's a whole different topic.

"See if I feed you now." Wait, would she do this? I know I have called her sadistic in the past, you know, once or twice, or… , but never that sadistic.



"I guess I'll just starve then." Guilting, one of my many talents.

She leans in and kisses me. Something that'll never get old. I guess that answers that whole, is it okay to do in front of the kid thing. "When will you be home?"

Wait, wait, I must make sure of the most important thing. "Does this mean you'll feed me?"

And enter Mr. Broody. I bet you they make a shirt that says this. They make shirts that say anything that a fifth grader would find witty. I wonder if he'd appreciate it. "She'll be back around five." At least he comes bearing answers.

Don't waste your smiles on him. He's like a brick wall. No, not like my wall, my wall is a secret passage way. "Will you be staying for dinner?" No, why must you invite him?

"I'll just get something at the hotel." Damn straight you will. I'm going to have to explain to her the importance of alone time.

"Oh, alright."

"The hotel that Ashley should be staying at." Is he serious right now?

"Charles!" I'd call you a different name, but there are children present. You're lucky.

He turns back towards the hallway. "I'll be waiting in the car." Yeah, you best run away. And he's gone.

"I'm so sorry." And Blue Eyes begins to cry. That's right, Blue Eyes, this is how it feels when the annoyance levels in a room rise because some asshole made your mom frown.

"He's tired. He's been really tired lately." Are we talking about Blue Eyes, or you, Spence? Because, you look a bit more tired than the kid has ever looked.

I stretch my arms out towards them. "Here, let me take him." She hesitates. I promise, I am completely over my wonderings if babies can bounce. Wikipedia said yes, but you shouldn't attempt it. And I want to throw it out there to you, if it's on Wikipedia, someone else wondered too. "We need to bond." We do. Bonding is important in growing relationships. I read it on the back of some book sometime. She carefully hands him to me and I snuggle him into my arms. "Hey there, Mr. Blue Eyes." He giggles. See, he likes his name.

"He likes you." I'm glad because I like him too.

"What's not to like."

"Well, I'm not sure." She puts her finger on her chin and fakes a contemplative pose. Acting lessons, Spence. You could use them. "I know I fell in love with your modesty." Well, I have heard it's my most attractive feature.



She yawns. Why do you got to do that? "You should go take a nap." Don't give me that look. Do you know how hard it is for me to tell you to go to bed when I won't be joining you? You should just listen. "I'm sure this little guy is ready for one too." I touch his nose and he reaches for my finger.

"Just a short one." I'll take what I can get.

"Sometimes that's all that's needed." She nods and looks down at Blue Eyes. Right right. "I'll put him down."

"Thank you." She heads towards the hallway and I follow.

"Don't thank me." Because really, I'd do anything to help. "Completely selfish reasons."If you're napping, you're resting, and if you're resting you are getting better. Why else would doctors always prescribe rest? It all makes sense. But I can't say this. "Look at this heart throb." Aw, he is cute like that. This is true.

She leans against the door to her bedroom and smirks. "Should I be jealous?"

"Never."The need for jealousy is completely defeated when you own someone completely. I lean over and kiss her softly. "Now, get to bed."

"You sure you have to leave?" Why must you always want to play the part of the evil temptress. Wait, evil temptress? Huh. Shut up, Davies.

"I'll be back before you know it." Hopefully, before I know it.

"Doubtful." Yeah, I know. Maybe the doctor does house calls, or something.

So stalling. She didn't let me stall this morning. Double standards. I point the bedroom. "Go."

"Yes, Mother." She kisses me and closes the door.

"I hope you never did that with your mother." I hear her laughing from behind the door. All I needed.

I look down at Ian on my arms. "Looks like it's just me and you." He giggles and squirms. Yeah, I'm excited too, but we'll have to schedule a different time for us to have a good talk about girls and life, champ. Some say in a good ten years, but they just don't get it. "Don't get too excited one of us is going down to nap." He stares at me. What? Look. Sleep is good. Don't let her brainwash you differently. "Don't look at me like that. I think you're the lucky one." I walk into his room, across the hall. Are you kidding me? Space themed. We have dark blue walls, and spaceship trimming. She and I are having a talk later. "I really hope you don't grow up to be one of those Sci-Fi nerds." Because the minute I hear klingon coming from your throat me and you are going to family therapy. And usually things like that are bad, it was just this one time, with this beautiful girl that it wasn't. Oh, and don't give me those eyes. "What? Video game nerd. Totally different." I set him down in the crib in the fashion that Kyla taught me once a long time ago, but he still gives me the eyes. Okay, okay. "Ugh, comic book too." That seems to pacify him as he snuggles into his blanket. "Here, just remember aliens not real, and we'll be 

okay." Oh, should I mention with the exception of those of them from Krypton? No, no, we'll leave that lesson for later. Don't want to confuse him. "Okay, going now." I turn towards the door and halt at the light switch. He's already drifting into sleep. "Watch after your mom for me, won't you, Champ?"

Right, I turn off the light with a quick glance at the baby monitor to make sure it's on, grab my coat, and make my way out to the car in front of the building. I open the car door and take a seat facing Charles, head down in a crossword puzzle. "Took you long enough." Well, if you are going to go all condescending the least you can do is look at me while you are doing it. It's called common courtesy.

Whatever. It must be his time of the month. I recently learned that men have chemical cycles too. How'd I learn this? I don't know, it was mentioned on Jimmy Kimmel or something. "You are crabby."

"We are going to be late for the appointment you don't need." I'd appreciate that witty retort, if it wasn't directed at me.

And since it was. "Ignoring that last statement." You get no credit for it at all.

Finally he looks up from that damn puzzle. "You can't ignore me forever."

Such lack of faith in my abilities. I am Ashley Davies, shall I remind him. "Want to bet?"

"Are you three?" Hey. I resent that. But not enough to give in. See. The sheer willpower of me. "Fine." That's right, give up. I always win.

And the car falls into silence. At least we got rid of that electronic puzzle thing that he had once. Freddy and I threw it out the window when he wasn't looking. The beeping drove us crazy, and he refused to silence it, telling us it would take away from the experience. Well, we took the experience away from him.

The car stops. This must be it. Large building. Why do cities love large buildings so much? I open the door. "You don't even know what floor you are going to." Are you really going to try again?

Wait, he has a point, and if he doesn't tell me I have to talk to even more people when I get inside, and then I feel just extra awkward. Fine, I give, but this is like a timeout, not a lose type thing. "Fine, what floor?"

"Second."

"Thank you." And I shut the door. I enter the building and ignore the woman at the desk taking straight to the stairs. If no one says anything and the stairs aren't locked, they are fair game. Large sign that says oncology department. This sounds about right. And look, aging receptionist, what did I tell you months ago? They are always in places like this. I give my name, and she tells me to have a seat, with a small look of recognition. I always appreciate the people that never say a thing.



Not a good magazine amongst them. Is this a curse of mine? You'd think I'd at least go to one place with one magazine worth reading. Would it kill to have at least one Maxime? I think the elderly could take it. I think it might be good for their hearts, a nice fire starter.

A nurse calls me back, and I follow her. She casts looks backwards at me the entire time. If I wasn't on my best behavior, I'd offer her an autograph, or something, it lasts longer. She leads me to a little room and instructs me to sit on a cold table. I know it's cold because everything seems to be cold here. And she leaves. Wait, aren't nurses supposed to do some type of questioning thing, or something? Not even a temperature? I could have a temperature. Okay, not important, I guess. Just wait until I contaminate the doctor, or something. Then what? Just shut up, Davies. Nervous isn't an excuse for stupid. And look, what a surprise, no magazines at all. Ugh.

Finally, a man walks into the room. Definitely the doctor. White jacket, stethoscope, tall. Wait, why is tall in that list? It just seems to fit. Oh well. "So, what seems to be the problem, Ms. Davies?"

"Not really a problem, per say." Okay, maybe a large problem, just not the type of problem he's expecting.

"No?" He turns his back, gathering instruments, instruments that could easily be used for torture and evil experiments, just saying. How does she come here almost every day? I should check on her sanity later.

He turns around with a stethoscope in his ear. Okay, wait; I don't want an examination or anything. "I kind of just wanted to ask about something." Something important.

He lifts my shirt. Hey, aren't you supposed to ask first? And places the stethoscope on my back. Ugh, hey buddy, that thing is cold. You think you could have done the hot breath thing, or something? I'm delicate. And I used to think stethoscopes were hot. "Breathe in." Ugh, fine. "What about?" Okay, you can do this, Davies, those instruments can only be used for good, I think it's a law. "Breathe out." Hey, it's my mantra. Okay, not the point.

Hey places the stethoscope randomly around my back. I really think they just do this to seem busy while they think of what else to do. "Uh." Get to the point, Davies. I don't want to be here all day. I have a dinner to attend. "Spencer Carlin."

He takes the stethoscope out from under my shirt. And usually that sentence is a good one. What a waste. "What about Ms. Carlin?"

"She's sick." Okay, a bit obvious, but it's a state.

Whoa buddy, that thing better be going over the shirt, because touching my chest is so not free. Especially to strangers. No one ever listens to me. Well, doctor's bills are notoriously high. So, I guess I am paying. And this is just all wrong. "Breathe in." How odd is it when someone else tells me this. "I'm aware." As her doctor, I'd hope so. "Breathe out."



"She has these bruises." That I can't get out of my head at all.

"Yes, I'm aware." Hey wait. You better not be too aware, buddy.

He removes the stethoscope and turns towards the instrument table, setting it down. Push forward, Davies. "She doesn't like to talk about it."

He wheels back to me, instrument-less, this is a good thing, I feel. "Ms. Carlin is a private person." Okay, and I came here for you to tell me things I don't already know, thanks.

Just lay it out on the table, Davies. "Doctor, I just need to know what's going on so I can help her." And I don't really think that's asking for much.

"I can't help you." Asshole.

Wait, don't say that out loud. It won't end well for the cause. "What do you mean you can't help me?" Okay, blank eyes, try a different approach. "I love her." Still nothing. "I love her and I need to help her."

"I can't help you, Ms. Davies." What do you mean? You can too. It's just a matter of you uttering a few words. You telling me what I can do. Why is this hard?

"You don't get it Doctor, she's everything to me." You can't get it, because I you did, you would understand that this isn't just an issue of living or dying, this is more than that, this is an issue of fear and heartache, and much more than that.

He sits himself on a stool and rolls it facing me. "No, I get it just fine." No, no you don't because if you did you wouldn't be able to use that voice, that cold voice, so unlike hers, and you wouldn't be able to sit there and look at me and be so perfectly apathetic to the whole thing.

And I just don't get it. "Then why won't you help me?"

He stares down at a folder, I didn't see in his lap earlier, and back up at me. "Do you think you're the first person to be in love?"

I never said that. I just don't think you understand, that's all. "I didn't say that."

"Do you think you're the first person in love in this position?"

He's putting words into my mouth. "No."

"Ms. Davies, I have hundred of patients." Isn't that a lot? How can you give them all the treatment they need? "And each one of them have people who love them, who would do anything to help them." Then why don't you let them? Why don't you seem to care?

"Why don't you let them?"

"Because that isn't up to me." He lifts the folder up and shakes it a little. "It's up to my patients, it's up to Ms. Carlin." But, your patients like the use the word fine when nothing is fine, and they like to 

pretend bruises and fatigue aren't there when they clearly are. This is what your patients would rather do than tell me what's wrong, and how I can help.

I feel defeated so I stand. "I'm just going to go, Doctor."

He grabs my arm to stop my path to the door. "Talk to her. Let her know how you are feeling." She already knows how I am feeling, doesn't she? She does. "I'm making an appointment for you tomorrow that coincides with Ms. Carlin's appointment." Wait, why?

"Huh?" Oh. Really intelligent.

"Just talk to her, and hopefully I'll see you tomorrow." He released my arm. I hope he knows he was speaking in tongues. He leaves the room before I do. Walking past me again. This seems to be a real problem for me lately.

I stand there for a minute and then I leave the room, and I leave the building, and I walk towards the car that will lead me back to an apartment, which might be small, but has all I need, that is warm, even if the air is biting at me and the snow is accumulating all around me, that holds forever promises in the form of a girl that may not last until forever. Back to an apartment that holds my heart in smiles that I'm beginning to think will have to live forever in dreams and memories, and teardrops that I haven't yet let fall.


	34. All We Are

**All We Are. **

It's really cold out. Really, really cold out. My breath can see its breath. Why am I not inside? When did breath get breath? You know, I have no idea. See the buzzer there, the one that reads 'Carlin'. Yeah, I'm having problems ringing it. It's not that I'm scared or anything, it's just that, there's a lot of stuff in that apartment, a lot of stuff I don't know if I can face. I'm trying though. I'm really trying. I think the snow that somehow got into my new pair of shoes, slowly causes hypothermia, can attest to this. It's a great motivator.

Charles drove off about five minutes ago. Okay, it may not sound like that long ago, but below zero temperatures means you take the amount of minutes and you multiply it by twenty. Which means, technically, I've been out here one hundred minutes. Now, see, that sounds like a lot. Ugh, stop spinning terrible logic, Davies, and push the damn buzzer, before you're too freezing to have these seemingly terrible inner monologues.

I push the button after much negotiating with my mittens. Who knew that mittens were so hard to operate? Nowhere on their tags do they mention this. I checked when buying them. I would have liked a nice warning that no matter how warm they look you always want gloves. You never appreciate your fingers so much as when you can't use them. She quickly buzzes me in and I climb the stairs slowly. One stair, two stair, three stair…

I don't get a chance to knock. She opens the door to the apartment and smiles widely at me. I try to return the smile, but I think I only get out a half awkward and a half wounded animal that needs to be put down smile. Attractive. "Hey you." She kisses me as I enter the apartment, and I revel in the kiss, because it's still telling me all those things I need to hear, and her lips are soft and warm and so alive.

But she breaks away from me. "Hey," I respond, because it's all I can think to say.

She takes my hands that are playing absentmindedly with the zipper of my coat. "I didn't think you'd ever get back." But, Spence, that few hours were a lot less than the month or so you went before. What changed in a day?

This isn't really the time, Davies, really it's not. You're doing one of those defense mechanisms that you can never remember the name of. One of the lesser important ones. Yea, there are degrees to these types of things. The king? Sarcasm. Under this, I'd say avoidance. Mhm. Something like that. One day I'll draw a hierarchy. Focus, focus. "Yeah, me either."

She drops my hands and tilts her head to the side. She is reading your mind, Davies. Deflect, deflect, think of something, think of something. Koala Yummies."You alright?" This is a good question. Are you alright? Koala Yummies? Okay, seriously though, why would they stop selling them? They were the perfect combination of chocolate and crunchy cookie outside, with the cute little koala imprints. It's always the good things that go away. … Always.



Did Koala Yummies seriously just depress you, Davies? You need to snap out of it. Seriously. "It just didn't go like I wanted it to." Not really at all.

"Anything I can do?" Yeah, a lot, but I think I'm more than afraid to ask. Whatever happened to being the bear, Davies? The bear died a few revelations back. Rest in peace, and all that.

I take my coat off and lay in on the couch. Change the subject. Change the subject. I use to be better at this. "Where's Ian?" Ian? Real name and everything. That was some serious subject change, Davies.

"Oh, Aiden took him." Aiden was here? I knew I felt the faint vibes of stupidity passing me when I opened the door; I just couldn't pinpoint what it was.

Breathe in, Davies. Blue Eyes, by no fault of his own, is Aiden's son. At least biologically. "Oh."

She shifts uncomfortably on her feet. Ugh, way to be, Davies. Could you make it more awkward? Probably. Remember, that wasn't a challenge. "So, you ready for dinner?" I hope that question was rhetorical. I'm always ready for dinner.

I walk towards where she is leaning against the wall before the hallway, watching me carefully. We never really did discuss Aiden did we? We never really discussed much of anything. "Depends, what did you make me?" I'll prioritize these conversations. In the meantime, food.

She smiles, shakes her head, and wraps her arms around me. "One day, I'll teach you manners." Of all the things to teach me, Spence? You are the genius.

I kiss her because I want her to teach me manners. I want her to teach me anything and everything she knows, as long as she's the one teaching me. "I'll teach you other things."

She laughs and I smile, the first one in awhile. "And what, pray tell, do you mean by that?" I wink and release her, traveling down the hallway to the kitchen.

I know that smell of sweet ambrosia. "I smell Italian." I just have a nose for these types of things.

Bingo. I turn the corner and there it is all hot and wonderful sitting in a pot on the table. "Spaghetti and meatballs." She smiles and gives me a quick peck as she goes around me to sit on the opposite side of the table from where I am standing, salivating. "I went simple."

I sit down and smile like a fool whose Christmas just came early. "One of my favorites." You can't beat the classics. You just can't. Like mac and cheese. Who doesn't like mac and cheese?

She giggles a bit when I fill my plate to the brim. Why are plates so small? Anyways. "I forewent the candles." I can't keep the blush from appearing on my face. Hey, you said you liked them, or something. That's so the last time I ever take romance advice from anyone. I'll stick to the chocolate thing. You think I should have bought her chocolate? I should have. I'll do that. I will.

"I think we'll manage." I notice that she's only put a little bit on her plate. Really, Spence? Blue Eyes could probably fit that amount in his mouth at once. And babies have little mouths. This might be why 

they don't have teeth at first. Whatever higher being decided he wouldn't tempt them with large juicy steaks if they couldn't consume them at a fast rate. Or, this could be completely off and be my stomach talking. Whichever.

I point to the food with my very full fork. I'd make out words but my mouth is full as well. I'm sensing a pattern with this whole food thing. "I'm not really all that hungry."

I put the fork down. I remember Cosmo once saying that sometimes you eat when you're stressed. Not that I read Cosmo, and not that I'm stressed, but, you know. "You feeling okay?"

She eats a forkful of spaghetti. Oh, convincing, but not really at all. Like a five year old that was just told they can't have dessert without eating their broccoli. "Yeah, I'm fine."

"I'm banning that word." That's right. It's about time I got all Mussolini on her. Okay, look, he doesn't get enough credit. He was badass, he was, he just had that little bit of Italian lover in him. You can't blame him for that.

She laughs. Did I say something funny? "You can't ban a word."

Was she not listening? "I can too and did." I'm sure someone somewhere banned a word at sometime. And I can think of at least half a dictionary that should be banned. I'm doing society a favor.

She shakes her head with a grin. Never takes me seriously. "Then I won't cook for you anymore." Would she do this? Could be a bluff, Davies. Wait, she is the tortures types.

We can get around this thought. It's all good. "They're called restaurants, Spence."

"Are you saying a restaurant could make you this delicious of spaghetti?" No, what I am saying is that the spaghetti isn't all that important, and I don't say stuff like that much, and I'm saying that there's something more than just being fine.

"I'm saying you have a pension for bribery." Emotional, physical it's all free game for you, Bugs.

She laughs and takes another bite. Hey. At least that's two. "Whatever gets the job done." Davies, keep your twisted mind in check right now. We have purpose at this meal.

"Now, is this in every situation?" So disobedient. It's okay. Like usually, all her fault.

Is that a smirk? Is she smirking at me? She's going to be the death of me. "I like to get the job done."

"I'll keep that in mind." Yeah, keep that in mind when you don't choke on your food. Swallow. Swallow. Good.

"You should." Focus, Davies, focus.



I twirl the spaghetti on my fork and sigh. It's really now or never, Davies. Okay, maybe not never, but this seems like a ripe opportunity for you to show you aren't a pansy. "Can we talk about something?" You already were talking about something, you idiot. Good opening.

I sense a cringe in her face. She knows what's coming. She knows and I know. And I think she's known since I got home but she's been avoiding just like I have. Just like me. "What do you want to talk about?"

"You." Usually my favorite topic. Look, you're ruining my favorite topic. Oh, right, Davies, blame her for your inability to grow a spine. Really mature.

Her frown is instant. I know she'd punish me for this. Any chance to punish me, and never in the good way. When did the old fashion tying someone to the bedpost punishment go out of style? I'd even take handcuffs. I can take some wrist pain; I've been very bad. Will you seriously shut up. Davies, seriously.

"There's nothing to talk about, Ash." Oh. Lie. Such a lie. Even if none of this was happening there's so much to talk about. I still know so little about you, Spence, and I want to know it all. Don't you know that?

"I just feel like you're not telling me everything." Or, nothing at all, but I figured I'd go for the more diplomatic. Less trouble that way and who wants to be in trouble when the punishment is actually painful? No one, that's who. And I can't think of much more painful that the most beautiful girl you've ever seen posed to cry.

She shakes her head and looks down to her barely touched food and back to me. I suppress the overwhelming urge to change the subject to make this all better to make her smile and to dispel the tears I know that are collecting. This has to be done. Doesn't it? It does. "Ash, please, leave it." Well, at least, she's not lying. Avoiding, but not lying.

"Spencer, please." I reach over the table and grab her hand, trying to relay what my mouth just can't seem to say, it's going to be okay. But, she doesn't squeeze my hand back at all.

She looks down to where they are linked and draws her hand back towards her, hugging herself with her arms. "I need a lung transplant." What do you mean you need a lung transplant? Lungs and breasts two different things, as I was taught in ninth grade, just because they're in the same region doesn't mean they do the same thing.

"What?" Really intelligible. You're winning on sensitivity and intelligence, right now.

She isn't looking at me. She's looking past me, her eyes are on me, but I don't feel them at all. "Cancer spreads, Ash." Well, I know this, I do. I just. Why would it bother spreading on you? Any part of you is worth more than an entire body of someone else. I think this logic might be twisted, but I don't care.

"Mine spread." Like your mother's did. I remember this story. I remember when you told me it a long time ago, and now I know why I couldn't hear it then. Because stories always repeat. That's what they do.



"What do you mean?" Davies, really? Wait, no I do mean something by this. "They don't treat lung cancer with lung transplants." I know this. I saw it on an episode of ER, because of cancer spread and the immune system, or something. Yes, I am feeling really smart right now.

"I know." Right, you know, I know, so what's this all about? Because, this, this isn't something to joke about. This could be under the definition of serious in the dictionary. I think I have a thing for dictionaries.

"Alright." I just don't know what else to say

She plays with a string on the hem of her t-shirt, and I watch entranced, not by her fingers, but by the silence that they symbolize, and we sit this way for a while, but I don't know how long, I really can't count time in these kinds of moments, the ones where you don't know if it's okay to breathe, or if it would take away from the silence that seems to be the purpose of every second clocking by. "We've been using experimental treatments." Wait, what? Nothing in that statement sounded safe, not at all.

"How experimental?" There are degrees to things like this, right? You know, the, it's completely safe, I just use the word experimental cause it makes me feel badass, response would be great right now.

"Very." Way to never answer the way I want you to. I think you do this on purpose. I really do. You're still retaining a lot of your sadistic nature, and here I thought it was draining, or something.

Breathe, Davies, you can do this. You really can. You have to. Because your everything is breaking and I don't know if you know how to put it all back together again if it gets that far. You weren't even all that good at legos. "And?" Well, it's better than nothing.

She sighs and finally I can feel her eyes on me because I think she knew I needed that, I needed to feel the warmth of the promises that no matter how bad all this gets I can still read there. "And I need a lung."

Okay, you know what, we passed this point. I now understand the saying one step forward two steps back. Very, very frustrating. "Okay, why?"

She takes a long drink from her glass. That's not alcohol, Spencer, it's not going to help at all. Because stalling only lets the sting build up more. It's like when you wait later to pull off the duct tape. Never a good idea. I have no idea why I'm mentally using terrible metaphors at a time like this. "The procedure has been working."

Okay, this, this is good news. Ugh, but she cancels any grin I may or may not have been developing with her downcast eyes and chronic frowning. Stifling my development, that's what she is doing. Or something. Doesn't she know good sentences when she hears them? "Isn't that a good thing?"

She nods, but her facial features barely shift at all. Ruins even the best sentences. Even the best. I just don't understand. "But, it's caused other problems."



"But, there are other ways." I've watched enough medical shows to know this. Come on, they are seriously invading my TV. Once there was just ER, now. Right. Focus, Davies. You can't avoid this situation.

She stands. I stand as well. You just follow actions like this. She walks towards the hallway, but I stop her by grabbing her hand delicately, not to pull too hard, because I'm scared right now anything could break her, but I pull her close to me, and she buries herself into me, head resting on my chest, as I wrap my arms around her. "My lungs, Ash, are just failing." But, I don't understand, nothing on you could fail, nothing. "And, he thinks this is the best way to go about this." Med school, you went to med school, I remember this, what do you think, Spence? I don't care about him.

Wait, you've been breathing fine, you have been. You've only been here a day, Davies, you have no idea. You have no idea about any of this. You've never been so in the dark. And what's with the ambiguity? What's with that? That's my thing. "I'll fix this." You will? Haven't we covered you're not a super hero, Davies, how do you plan on fixing any of this?

I can feel the tears collecting on my shirt and I can feel the headshake against my chest and I think I know what she's going to say before she says it but I let her because she has to get it out and I can't deny her anything. "It's not for you to fix." But you're mine to fix, so you're wrong, Spence, and it doesn't happen often. "I just need you to be here."

Right, but, Spence, I can do both. I can. I didn't think I could, once, but now I know I can. And, you know what, that doctor, the one you seem to have so much faith in, he knew this too. And suddenly my appointment tomorrow makes sense. This is all going to be fine. We can fix this. Because, like I've said before, you have two sets of organs. You do. And I know this because the other set is mine, and if you need it physically, it's yours. "I'll give you a lung."

She pushes me away faster than I knew she could and stares at me incredulously, cheeks still stained with tears. "You will not." Hey, you are not the boss of me.

And I will do what I want. "I will too."

She shakes her head. "My brother and my father weren't matches." Oh great, so everyone knows but me. How are things like this fair? Nothing makes someone feel less important, Spence, just saying. Who knows who else knows. I bet Madison was first in line. I didn't even get a chance to be first in line.

This really isn't the time to get upset, Davies. You can sulk later. And this just sounds like she has no faith in me. None at all. "I'll be a match."

She shakes her head and looks down to the floor. "No."

You could at least look at me when you're rejecting all of me. It be a nice common courtesy, but you've always seemed to have this problem, haven't you? "I'll make this better." It doesn't matter because I'm done just accepting your downward eyes and small headshakes and tightened body stance. I know it all too well and I'm done with it.



"No." Yeah, you've already said that.

Annoying, aggravating and obnoxious. This is what she's being. "Listen to me." Why don't you stomp your foot a little too, Davies? What? She never wants to listen to me.

Her head shoots up and her eyes are digging into mine before I had time to prepare. I think I said something wrong. I can't decide if it was in my head or out loud, on account that she hears both. "No, you listen to me." Always do, thanks. "I don't want your lung, Ash." Don't say that and look at me like that. It isn't fair. You can't play the game like that. You can't.

"What?" Intelligible. Nice.

Her eyes are back on the ground. Fuck you, ground. That's right. I said it. "The chance that you're a match is low anyways." Her voice has lowered considerably.

I walk closer to her. I know she needs me close even if she won't admit it. Even if she wants to focus on the floor and not on me at all. "I like to beat the odds." And she needs hope from me, I know she does, even if it comes out cliché and overused and barely above a whisper because I'm standing completely in front of her now. I know she needs me. I know because of the look she's giving me.

I hold out my hands and she takes them, lacing our fingers together carefully, her eyes never leaving mine. "This isn't a movie, Ash." But she says it so quietly it barely counts as words at all, or it counts more, either way, I pull her close to me again and she comes willingly, laying her head on my shoulder as we lean against the kitchen wall.

"It'll be fine."I know, but I mean it. I can feel it. I can feel more than fine when we are like this, but I felt like those words are just a little too brash with the situation, words like perfect and wonderful couldn't live in the air right now, but they'll live in my head. Because I can feel it.

I hear a giggle. Ugh. "I thought you banned that word." Difference. When I say it. It is fine. When you say it, it could mean the world is crashing around you like glass but at least it hasn't cut any major arteries yet. See. Huge, obvious difference.

Hey, and wait, she isn't playing fair. I have to get her a user guide. "Don't use my words against me."

She laughs again. "Well, don't ban my words." Well don't use overused phrases, that's my thing.

Davies, can you please focus. "You're changing the subject."

"Don't you get it?" She buries her head into my shoulder and shakes her head.

"Seemingly, not." I place my chin on her head, buried deep in the crook of my neck, and shake my head so she can feel it, so she doesn't have to pull away at all from me at all to know that I really don't. I don't get it at all.

"So many things could go wrong, Ash." Yeah, and the most important, the biggest one, is that I could have to go a day without a purpose for waking up. Don't you get that? "I don't need you to save me." 

Maybe not. But I need for me to save you. I need you. This can be completely selfish if it needs to be. If that's what it'll take for you to listen to me. "I don't."

"What if I want to?" What if it's all I want to do with my life right now? What if albums and movies and anything else means nothing to me anymore? What then, Spence? You can't take that away from me.

She twists her head and looks up at me. "Ashley." Okay, maybe you could, sadistic and all, but it wouldn't be nice at all, just saying.

You know what? This really isn't up for discussion. I'm not going to give in. I don't care how blue her eyes are or how soft her skin is or how much my heart still shakes when she says my name, I don't care. Or, I do care, and that's why I can't give in. "I'm getting tested." And you can't do anything about it, okay, leave out that part. "You can yell at me more when I'm a match." By then maybe I'll sound more convincing, or I'll have found a drug that makes you extremely more agreeable. I'm thinking the latter is more likely.

"I dislike you so much right now." But she pulls me closer to her and I allow my arms to pull her as close as she can get, trying so hard to ignore bruises because she seems to want to and I don't know which ones hurt or where they all are at all.

"Yes, well, I think you're annoying right now." Not that that's a secret.

She laughs and I feel it inside of me as her body shakes against me. "You always think I'm annoying."

I kiss the top of her head. "At least I always think you're beautiful." And a long list of other things. "Does that make up for it at all?"

She shifts in my arms and kisses me hard on the lips. "Barely." There was nothing barely about that kiss. "But I know what would." Of course you do. Of course.

"What's that?" Because really, you know, and I know, that I'd do almost anything for you. Even if you don't want me to.

She smiles a coy smile, kisses me, and pulls away. "Play a song for me." This again?

"Okay." Ha, wait, loophole. I love loopholes. And I pride myself in my ability to find them. I'm equipped with a radar. "I don't have a guitar, and my songs really need one." Well, they are written for guitar and all.

She's walking towards her room. "In my closet."

Wait, really? Wait a minute. I hear her rustling in the closet as I follow her into the bedroom. "You don't play."

She turns to me with a brand-new, mahogany acoustic in her hands. Okay, well, that's definitely a guitar. Thanks for the obvious, Davies. "I bought it just in case." You mean, you bought it for when you knew I'd come after you, because we both knew it was undeniable. You could have just called, or something.



She hands me the guitar and sits on the bed patting the spot next to her. I take the spot. "It's really terrible." I'll wonder when I developed stage fright of a one person audience later. She's heard all my songs, all of them. More than anyone else. What's the problem?

She kisses my cheek and settles back onto the bed. "Just play it."

"Pushy." Easy for her to say. I could claim I don't have a pick. Maybe she doesn't have one of these. But I reach into my back pocket and pull out my blue one. I always have one on me. If she wants a song I should give her a song. I should. If she wants the world I should find a way to give it to her, because I may not have a chance tomorrow or the next day. Right, I position the guitar and recite the cords in my head before I play. G major and I begin.

"Dear Bella, I wanted to tell you that the world now wishes on us. It's true. I woke up this morning, much like all my other days, completely blinded with you on my mind. But today it was different when I lifted my head from my lone pillow and pulled my legs up from their undercover caves, today I just knew. "

Breathe. One part done, Davies. You've sang millions of songs to millions of people. Stop being a pansy.

"And it wasn't the smile you casually stamp on my lips with yours even from miles away because I've always felt this. And it wasn't the way your name travels through my head bouncing through all my situations because its always been there. And it couldn't be the heat that your laugh causes because I've always relied on it. Relied on it to warm me every night."

Can you say poor sentence form, Davies? Maybe you should have made it rhyme, or make sense, or anything.

"No, there's another reason that we're shining bright, bright enough to cause attention to the world's wishes, bright enough to envy stars, too bright for me to sleep at night. "

Your fingers are slipping, Davies, D major. D major.

"I knew it when you said hello last night and everything just fell away and I knew I wanted to hear it for the rest of our forevers. I'd give my lifetime of memories for a new lifetime of hellos and how are yous and goodnights and I wouldn't regret a thing. I'll never regret waking from all those dream of your hand on mine to the reality of just your voice. Just your voice undoes me."

And I get it now. It's hard because this time it matters. Her thoughts, her opinions, her ears, they matter to me. And this song. This song might matter to her.

"So I'm writing you this letter, basking in the cold morning light, I thought you might want to know, that I'm promising you an eternity and maybe plus a day and if you don't want that maybe a million songs or three billion written words, or maybe I'm just trying to say I love you, I'm trying to find my way. Love, love."



Ugh, pure crap. I should have actually taken time to write it. And I'd smash my head against the wall if it wasn't for her taking my hand and squeezing, like I wanted her to do earlier in the day, in that precise way. I guess if she wants me to sing sappy, horribly written songs to her, then I can do that. I can do whatever she wants to get that smile.

"Come on, Bella, let's go to bed." She stands and takes the guitar out of my hands placing it delicately against the wall.

"It that a demand?" I kick off my pants and pull off my shirt. Underwear and a tank top make an alright sleeping attire because tonight is a night for sleeping on promises and all those things. And she does the same.

She laughs as she climbs under the covers and I follow. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

I pull her close to me and she fits perfectly into me like she always has since the first night we slept this way, since the first time I felt her hot breath warm my neck, since the first time I knew what she meant to me, what all this was to me. "Immensely." Because right now it's all immense but just right and I wonder when my heart grew this big to hold this all inside but I know it can. I know it. Because I know I could never run from this silent sleeping form, so small, but holding so much more inside.


End file.
